Baekhyun

I could feel her hands on my skin. The warmth of her fingertips glided down my neck, leaving a trail of fire ablaze beneath the surface of my skin. The scent of orchids overwhelmed my senses, as if I had my very own garden sprouting, flourishing deep in the pits of my stomach, growing and growing, making it harder to breathe. My eyelids slid shut slowly, the sensation of her touch and her hot breath on my neck making my body submit to her bidding. Heavy breaths left my lips as my mouth hung open, lost in the ecstasy.

Then suddenly the warmth was no more.

I reached out helplessly, trying to catch her. The craving for her touch that ate me up was not yet satisfied. I wanted more. And so I my hand, desperately feeling around for her. My fingers grazed over the surface of the sheets, the valleys and contours of the silk, until finally I had her. With a smile, I tugged, pulling her back to me. But her body twisted around uncontrollably, wriggling wildly as if she resisted my touch. A dent formed in the space between my eyebrows as I parted my lips to question her.

Smack!

The palm of a hand landed against my cheek, swift and ruthless.  I threw my eyes open in shock, and I looked up at the abuser who hurriedly jumped off the mattress as if it were a pile of crap she had accidentally descended upon.

“The were you dreaming about, Baek?” She screamed at me, and my eyes widened as I analysed my surroundings.

Bed; check. Blanket; stripped from my body and thrown to the floor. Best friend; still alive and raging. Why do I feel like I’m missing something…

The memories of my sweet and pleasant fantasy came back to me all at once, and my mouth stretched open in a wide, playful grin as I turned to her. All she gave me was a look that said ‘why am I even friends with you’ and turned away, the roll of her eyes the last thing that I saw as she stomped out of my room.

“And get that morning wood out of my sight, you ert!”

, okay so that’s what I forgot.

Fresh out of the shower with a towel hung around my neck, I pulled the door open, stepping into the room. She had already made herself comfortable on my bed (more like she had thrown herself on it and lay there, dead to the world if she wanted to be). Raising one end of the towel, I dried my hair while making my way to the walk-in closet. As I reached for the rack of suits as I would every morning for the past seven years, I heard "wear something comfortable!", which halted my movements. She sat up and pulled the sweater over her shoulder. "I called in to your office, rescheduled everything to tomorrow. You're coming with me today." She drawled out, then she looked back up, here eyes lighting up as if she had just remembered something. “That secretary sounded way too breathy on the phone for an employee. Either she’s gay for me or she’s really desperate for a raise.”

I rolled my eyes. I turned to the other rack. "Are you dragging me shopping again?"

She picked at the wool of her sweater, not bothering to look up. "Nah, not today. We're going on a road trip."

"Where to?"

"My grandma's house. You're driving, okay?"

(It wasn't actually a question, but I'd like to think that I had a choice when it came to her).

My phone buzzed on the side table, and I grabbed it, swiping my finger across the screen to read the message.

It was from her.

But somehow, today, I couldn’t find it in me to smile at her name or the thought of her. My eyes took in the ‘wanna hang out today?’ and I felt guilty that I was so prepared to reply with a ‘sure’. I turned to her as she walked to the mirror and fixed her hair, looking at me through the reflection. She smiled, the turn crawling up her lips lazily, and I knew my answer already.

The engine hummed to life. She began fiddling with the GPS, setting the countryside estate as the destination. I pulled the gear into drive, and the sedan began cruising down the street and setting off. Leaving the vivacious burg behind, the two of us departed towards the limitless forests and lush verdure.

Long silences were never our thing, and soon enough, we found ourselves roaring out the ultimate power anthem (hers, not mine, of course).

“Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, so tell me what you want, what you really really want!”

She wound the window down, letting her hair fly with the wind as she screamed out the lyrics.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever,” whipping her head around, she pointed at me, cueing our pretty kickass harmonization, “friendship never ends.”

Laughter bubbled out of my mouth when it got to Mel B’s part. I decided that it was okay for my eyes to leave the road for a few seconds, and I shifted my attention to her. In one hand she held an imaginary microphone, with her head tilted to the left and spitting out fireballs of rap.

To any one else, she would’ve seemed like the happiest, most carefree girl on the way to see her grandmother.

But I knew better.

Stealing a glance at the screen of my radio, I took note of the date. It was that day. And as I watched her from the corner of my eyes, I counted the small things that gave it away.

First was the clenched fists that looked a little too tight. I was pretty sure the epidermis of her palm would have cried out in distress at the pressure her nails were putting on it. The soft skin was imprinted with crimson crescents, but the smile she plastered on her face didn’t give any of her pain away.

Next, the constant fluctuations of her mood. The normal nonchalance she had this morning had worn off into passionate enthusiasm in a mere hour. Sure, she had her special days when her hormones went berserk once every twenty-eight days (it was thirty days the last time, and I had to spend the day assuring her that she was definitely not pregnant). But this was different. She’d put on a front, painting her very own mask with the expressions she wanted others to believe. The grin settled on her lips was a little too wide, the pitch of her voice a little higher, the movements of her hands as she spoke a little too extravagant. It was all a little too happy; a little too forced.

And lastly was that faraway look that lingered in her eyes in the moments when the radio station switched from one song to another. The fact that I had to keep my hands on the wheel and get the both of us to the destination in one piece was the only thing that held me back from wrapping my arms around those fragile shoulders and pulling her close to my chest.

I remember her telling me about it. About her childhood and her grandparents. I remember having my shirt soaked in tears when she told me about her grandfather’s , and I remember my heart breaking for my best friend every anniversary since.

A young girl stood at the foot of the large ash tree, her baby blue dress fluttering in the wind as she stared up at the older man up in the tree. The man looked to be in his fifties, but the rippling of muscle under the rolled-up sleeves would’ve fooled everyone else. The clobbering of the hammer against the wood was all she could hear, but to her, it sounded a gazillion times better than the diamond encrusted music box her father had bought her.

Because up in that tree, her dear grandpa was putting the finishing touches on her very own tree house.

“Grandpa! Can I come up now?”

His head peaked out from the base of the house, an