Lips of an Angel
Lips of an Angel
His phone rings in the middle of the night, amidst that pleasant haze of not-quite sleep, and the last thing his expects is to see his name blinking across the screen of the caller ID. He pushes the covers away, moving carefully as he slides off the bed before grabbing his phone and slipping out of the room. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, but he waits until he's in the kitchen before picking up the call.
Silence pounds in his ear before he hears the tell-tale sniffle and shudder of breath, followed by a voice that's hoarse and unsteady. "Seungho?"
It's a heart breaking sound and he doesn't know how to respond to it. The last time he'd heard those whimpers, seen those tears that are imprinted in the back of his mind, he was walking away. He can't walk away now; he needs to face this,
"Baby-" The nickame slips off his tongue before he can stop it. It's a habit, part of who he'd become over the years. "Aoora, it's really late. What's wrong?" It's insensitive, his tone hints at it, but he knows he has to do something to keep his distance, to let the other know that there's still that rift between them.
For a few long moments, all Seungho can hear are the soft, muffled whimpers of the other male, and then he speaks again. "I just needed to hear your voice," he manages. "God, I missed your voice."
"It's good to hear your voice, too, Aoora." It's the truth. Seungho had missed hearing his voice over the past months, that familiar chime and chirp that had been a constant in his ears at one point. But it aches. There's a weight on his chest. It's guilt, pain, and fear, all pressing down, and he knows that if he stays on the line too much longer, it's going to crush him.
"I've been thinking about you a lot..."
The confession doesn't help Seungho's reserve. In fact, it only aids in breaking down those walls he's built. He sags against the kitchen counter, head hung low as he listens to the slow, steady, stuttered breathing on the other end of the phone. Aoora is thinking; Seungho is familiar with that silence, well enough to know that there is so much more that the other boy wants to say, but he won't unless he's sure that it's not going to hurt anyone. There's never any guarantee.
"Aoora, I can't really talk right now," Seungho whispers, taking a nervous glance down the hall. The door is still closed, lights off - he's in the clear for the time being.
"I'm sorry," Aoora replies quietly. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I'll leave you alone. I'm-"
"Aoora," Seungho cuts him off. "Aoora, I'm really glad you called." I miss you so much, and I know I shouldn't but I still love you. "I'll keep in touch."
Nothing. Aoora doesn't reply, perhaps because he can hear beyond what's being said and he knows that while Seungho is appreciative of the call, he won't try to keep in contact. Their relationship is beyond that, beyond repair, and he shouldn't have been so stupid to think that he could do anything to try to fix it.
"Bye, Aoora."
Seungho doesn't get a 'goodbye' in return. All he hears is a quiet static as the line goes dead. It cuts a piece from his heart and shatters it. He knows what he's just done, and that's what hurts the most. The door between him and Aoora had been left ajar but just a tiny crack, a small sliver, but it was just enough room that it could be opened again in time. What Seungho had done just then was close that door. Forever.
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