*                                    *                                         *

 

 

Smile, I told myself, forcing my lips to curl upwards as I looked at my own, now-shabby reflection. This is what you wanted. Now this is what you have. 

 

In response, my face reflected a strange expression that would barely pass for a smile.

 

I knew there were people watching from the other side of the one-way mirror, evaluating my every move. And it could be anyone. Anyone. So I had to smile. I had to show I really wanted this.

 

The scene of my sad farewell played back in my head in a loop, almost mockingly now. "You take care of yourself, understand?" my mother's sweet voice echoed inside my head. "And you'll call us everyday."

 

"Mom," I'd whined. "I'll be tired. Training is hard . . . "

 

Instead of a verbal reply, my mom had awkwardly wrapped her thin arms around me. Probably my last hug since.

 

I dug my nails deeper into my palms, blinking vigorously to stop my tears from spilling out.

 

Accept it, I told myself as I slipped down to the smooth wooden floor. I let out a long, sad sigh, momentarily losing myself in the melancholy. You miss them. You miss your family, you miss your friends. You miss your home, and you just wanna go back. 

 

My head tilted back until it hit the wall. I want this . . . And just like that, a small tear escaped my eye. I instantly wiped it away, before anyone from behind the glass could see me and throw me out.

 

Being a trainee here in Seoul at one of the top talent agencies was a dream come true for me. And I couldn't let it go just like that. No matter how hard it gets.

 

The handle to the door turned softly before a fellow trainee, that I recognised as my row partner walked in, looking like she was on the verge of breaking down.

 

I sniffed, straightening my shoulders as I watched her sadly shove her bottle in her gym bag, with her head bent low.

 

"Gwenchana?" My voice sounded airy and tired.

 

She slowly lifted her head, and I realized with a mild shock that she was crying. "Do I look okay?" Her hand reached up to wipe her tears and she sniffed loudly, continuing to adjust the only item in her bag.

 

I quickly rushed over to her side and placed a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder.

 

That's all she could contain, and she suddenly started . . . wailing like a child. "I don't know what to do. I miss my family so much! It's so hard being here all by myself!" Her hand kept swiftly wiping away her abundant tears as she poured her feelings out.

 

I patted her shoulder in sympathy. Although, what I was really thinking was why wouldn't she just go and meet her family. I mean, they lived three hours away. All she had to do was take a bus, and . . .

 

"I know how you feel," I spoke carefully. "But you have to know that they'd want you to be strong." She turned to look at me with tired eyes.

 

"They believe in you. You have to be strong for them, okay?"

 

She gave a single nod, before she zipped up her bag. "You're right," she said. "I will." Her arm slipped around my shoulders as she attempted to hug me. I just stiffened and sat still.

 

With a rushed, "Thank you," she adjusted her bag's strap on her shoulder and quickly ran out.

 

I let out another long, sad sigh, pushing myself up to hit 'SHUFFLE' on my iPod that I'd connected to the speakers.

 

"Oh, great . . ." I hugged my fragile body as the slow and sad music to 'Beautiful Mess' started playing. This was probably the only song that could make me happy and sad at the same time in a way I could not describe. But all it did right now was make me sadder than I already was.

 

'. . . You are strong, but you're needy; humble, but you're greedy . . ."

 

Stay strong, I commanded myself as I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. Stay. Strong.

 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I rolled my shoulders back and stood straight. Shove it off . . .

 

'. . . And what a beautiful mess this is; it's like picking up trash in dresses . . .'

 

I slid a foot around in a circle that was as graceful as I could manage right now, before I started turning in short and pretty circles, waltzing all by myself in the large, empty room. Dancing was the only thing that could help me take my mind off of it, so that's what I indulged in, spinning with my arms in the air as if they were holding onto a much-needed dance partner. The occasional tear or two did manage to escape, but I tried not to give in to the sadness.

 

But I could only dance for so long, before the door flew open again. And in walked one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen. He smiled sadly at me as he shut the door gently. And I instantly recognized his handsome and perfectly chiselled face.

 

Yixing . . .

 

I stood frozen, my hands now dropped to my sides, and my mouth dry, as he slowly and carefully made his way over to me. With another small smile, he picked up my hand and held it in the air, while his other guided mine to place it on his shoulder, before slithering gently around my waist.

 

'. . . You could call it fiction, but I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear . . .'

 

And from there, I let him guide me as we now waltzed together in harmony, our moves matching each other's beautifully. Neither of us said anything, because we didn't need words to express how we felt right now. He knew how I felt, and I knew what he was thinking. Words were only going to ruin this 'beautiful mess' that we'd created for ourselves right here. We were both scarred in our own way, and now we were both finding comfort in each other.

 

He looked into my eyes and I looked back at his, feeling the moisture build up again. And that's when he finally broke the silence.

 

"It'll be okay . . ." His whispered words blew at my still-tender emotional scars, reigniting them, and I lost control. I burst into uncontrollable sobs, my shoulders trembling with overwhelming emotions.

 

And he quickly wrapped his protective and strong arms around me, and I instantly snuggled into his chest, letting my tears spill over his shoulder. It felt like he could read my mind and knew exactly what I needed right now as we stood there, wrapped up in an embrace, our bodies still gently swaying from side to side to the sad music.

 

Feeling my pain subside gradually, I pulled back to thank him. But before any words could escape my trembling lips, his soft thumbs gently wiped away my tears. His hands still lingered on my face and I unconsciously snuggled into the beautiful weight. He smiled at me one more time, before pulling me back into his arms, his hand now securely holding my head in place against his chest. Our bodies still swayed softly, not following the rhythm of the music anymore, but to the beat of our own hearts . . .

 

 

 

'. . . And tides, they turn; and hearts disfigure; but that's no concern when we're wounded together . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And what a beautiful mess this is . . .