“I love you.”

“Yeah."

We both kept in silence, and I let myself believe that maybe, in your ambiguous reply was a hint of love, too. I held on to every notion of love there was, even the most miserable partitions of it. On purpose I had been lying to myself, blurring the lines of love and comfort, and it was, something confusing, and yet, gladdening in a pathetic sense. 

You were beautiful, and I was just another normality – plain, common. If only you could’ve seen the way the morning sun graces your pale complexion, and how every expression was splayed out so exactly and entirely. If only you could’ve seen the way everyone stared when you entered, and hear the soft murmurs of envy and mostly, swoons. Maybe you already knew, you were so indefectible and unparalleled that everyone fell for you on sight. 

But they never knew, they never knew about the thin white lines that showed under the glaring white light. They never knew about darkness in your head and the monsters that stalked your memories. They never knew about the thoughts that haunted your head nightly, and the soft sobs that filled an empty house. And even if they did, they’d never understand. 

Oh Se Hun, three words to define a measure of perfection so far beyond imaginable and attainable. I’d always thought that for the rest of my existence I was only lucky enough to be watching, admiring, and hoping, from afar. But fate played out so differently, expectantly.

It was when our eyes first met that I was entranced, and irrevocably intrigued by your paradisiacal presence, and it spiraled overboard when I saw how seraphic my name fell from your lips like petals from a blossomed flower, so smoothly and sweetly.  I didn’t think I could ever be as absorbed by someone as I was by you, and the way the smile that crept up your pretty lips complemented your tinted cheeks and eyes full of soul. 

I was fascinated as much as I was confused, how an unblemished person like you could have sustained so many, bumps, and bruises, because I knew that if I had known I’d have done whatever I could to stop the pain from getting to you. Transcendent, you once said to me. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was to describe me and if you really thought as much of me as I did of you. 

It’s been five months since we first met in homeroom, five months of what I called love, the most hallucinatory, disoriented best five months of my life, despite how cheesy and cliché that sounded. Maybe we’ve both been just in wait for each other, like every other human being for a soul mate, or a best friend, but we were none of those, we were much more, disconcerting.  

It’s all still very hypnagogic how we came from strangers to classmates to whatever we are now, if it is anything, even. From the start we were always so, amorphous. What we were? We never fit together like two pieces of a puzzle piece, and our hearts didn’t beat out of control. If I was to define what we were, I’d say we were pages from the same worn-out book – torn, tattered; the dusty corners of a shelf no one dusted; the songs in a mix tape never cut, never heard. 

H u n h a n .

I reveled in the way you strung our names together like it was meant to be, like we were in a normal, healthy, relationship; two persons deep in love and drowning in passion. Yet all we were drowning in was that common black hole we shared, pulling us both in, slowly and agonizingly. 

This correspondence of a semblance of misery – the closest ideation of our relationship, was probably similar to that of two moths drawn to a candle light, searching in the dark for one of the same kind, and in our little dates we would often hold hands and watch the coagulation together, like an old couple watching the sunset from a park bench. We were painters with an overused canvas, delineating our misadventures in crimson, reminiscing. 

Maybe it was that sense of abatement in the presence of another that was so invigorating for both of us, so ameliorating, soothing. We relished in the comforting warmth of your body against mine, and for that short period of time, I felt, at home. Unlike what the majority tended it, we weren’t loud, or vocal about it or during it. I guess neither of us saw a need to proclaim what was meant for only the both of us, the fuzzy heat that would be lost if shared among many. 

As ed-up as this seems, I really think that these five months were the most awake I felt in my life. I felt more, alive; less numb. You gave me more than I could ever ask for, and I hope so to have done the same for you. We were not in passion, but we were conflagrant, as much as I’d like to think so. Waking up was never dreadful, to your fingertips tracing raw skin unhurriedly, lingering on raised bumps and scabs formed. Hushed words and silent acknowledgement, gentle touches, grazing fingers – those were little things, but they made me feel, like adoration for a few moments. Like love.

Today we scribble our names together in black ink; with smudged ink and short sentences. We are giddy with excitement, arbitrary laughter ricocheting. We almost hold a party, a private party for the both of us, in celebratory nuances. 

As the sun sets we get to the highest point, and the sight of the caramel fuchsia melting into the seams of the glistening sea is as immense as it is silently tragic. You hold my hand gently as we climb over the fence, just to get nearer to that enrapturing volatility. I try to take in as much of this as possible, the semblance of young blushing love, titillating recklessness and everything that seemed to fit so splendidly. You smile with as much exuberance as you did the first day we met, except now it was unambiguous, for me, and all that we were. 

“Luhan.”

My name slips out breezily, so low it’s almost a whisper. And for the last time, I smile back at your perfect face, mouthing three words, unintelligible to everyone else but you.

At this very moment, we fly, and glide through the white clouds of froth. No one really knows how it feels like to be embraced by the heat of the titian glowing setting sun and gracing in the air, carefree. This moment is sanguine. This moment is repose.