Now I’ve been my wounds

But the venom seeps deeper

There was a moment when the words flied away, and felt like everything just stopped — his heart was not pumping the blood in his veins anymore as the air was failing to the lungs, all inside him switched. So badly. The speech made since the invitation arrived, since the reuniting time was announced, gone. Everything was gone, slowly turning into that deep blue calmness, and the black dark spots of broken years were twinkling in golden memories. It was strange, so strange the way warmth was spreading on his tip toes, filling the legs until the torso, to reach the eyes with long eyelashes, the chocolate color was dropping it to him, giving it away in the form he had forgotten long time ago. The crowd around was shut, nothing passed the ears and the burn-blonde hair on his nape spiked up. It was numb. He was so numb and frozen at his spot. Move! Move! His head screamed, and he wanted to, but he was scared of moving, maybe blinking, and realizing the person five feet in front of him was not really there, was just somebody with the same features, the same energy.

He had dreamt about this, for years. There, they would suddenly bump into each other; in a relaxed coffee shop, in a loud restaurant, or in a dark street, in which one of them would hold into their arms so no one could fall, and notice, second by second, who they were holding. And he would be the first one to open a smile, and say hi, maybe say he missed him. A lot. So much it actually gave him pain, made his heart ache.

I miss you, I miss you so much.

The skin would still be so smooth, his own hand would fall until it was able to touch the other, and he would hold it strongly. He would also see a smile, the beautiful, genuine smile with the lips so perfect that he wanted to kiss. Kiss with his being and whisper don’t go now, please, stay. And he would hug him with his soul. Because he didn't do it before, their last hug was one week before the news broke out. They were distant back then, the air full of unspoken explanations, and a tension so heavy dancing between the bodies, the embrace was a sudden act, he just felt the arms wrapping nicely behind him, his eyes moved to look, yet it was impossible because it was too tight, too pleading something he wasn't quite sure of what, it lasted less than a breath, because he didn't want it, the warmth, the caress, the soft call. Instead of accepting it, he slowly removed the arms from his body one by one, inhaling the coldness and he didn’t look behind when he exited the kitchen.

They didn’t talk for four years after that.

It became a game, in fact, to ignore his presence, to run away from places where the other could be found, to escape parties or meetings, to just give a little small when the name popped up in an interview and look away, waiting from some rescue, thinking of doing something to change the subject. He did what he was supposed to do at the beginning: pretend the other didn’t exist; but how to fool a heart? How to cure a love in the back of his mind, ready to crawl up his thoughts whenever he was alone? He couldn’t run anymore, there was no more place to go, no more door to open and hide himself.

So he wore his bests clothes, his best expression of calmness, his best lies and waited while his heart was beating so fast the entire evening, and his eyes were searching the room for someone. He wondered if everybody noticed how uneasy he was, how worried of seeing him, no one told him anything about it, and when they asked if he was okay, it was because he wasn’t eating. How could he eat when the door of Changsun’s house would open at anytime and reveal the only person in the world he couldn’t face?

And when it did happen, there was no more mess in his head. There was nothing. He just stared and stared and stared, the hatred he felt before turning into an urgency.

The old red hair was brown now, the locks up in a fashion style giving the pale, flawless skin of his face a shine, the same youth shine from the beginning, but there was something new, something different about the chocolate orbs, and the rosy lips. They changed into a mature appeal, the smiled changed, it was light like before, yet the purity was not with it anymore. The time passed and the beauty became an old aura, an old mystery, an old charm. A man now, handsome, and aware of the world's tricks, was even more attractive, more undeniably perfect. At least the dressing habits remained the same, the brand clothesline, and cardigans. However, they didn’t cover a lanky, somewhat skinny slash muscular body anymore, not at all. The thick neck seemed longer, while the broad shoulders were even bigger, beginning a strong shape. The V black shirt was a little too low, showing the sharp collarbones and just the start of a hard chest that could be easily seen through the cotton, along with the slight lines of his defined abdomen. The amazing side curve of his torso was still the same too, yet the arms close to it were enormous, the red cashmere of his long cardigan was wrapping around and forming a second skin, showing clearly the muscles and size of them. And the big hands were also the same, the slender fingers holding a gift close to his long, toned legs with dark skinny jeans.

He blinked once, twice until he was sure his vision was right, until he regained all of his senses, until he putted himself together. The man by the door had no vestiges of the boy who left the MBLAQ dorm and never came back. Before he was able to look down, the younger’s eyes locked into his stare, and the hate, coldness he expected to receive, never happened; actually, they were soft, so soft as saying everything was okay. The smile on his face slowly closed, his lips puckering into a ball but the corners still up, and the eyelashes curled with a nod specially for him, specially for Seungho. Everything is okay, it's all okay.

The stare was broken by Changsun running to greet Sanghyun, and Seungho just watched when they hugged each other, Changsun immediately gagging in happiness when he saw the white box.

“Happy birthday,” the high pitched voice sounded low and thick, piercing into his ears, going for his mind where it echoed and echoed, bringing to life all the times he had listened to it. His mind was a mess, then, millions and millions of calls, of his own name contaminated it, every single one with a different tone, in different situations, some funny, some worried, some sad, some happy, some just a mere whisper, almost insecure, wanting for his attention.

“Oh, my God!” Changsun’s shout woke him up, as he was holding the box open. It was a watch made of gold that reflected the light of the room in every possible direction, and the small diamonds carved didn’t stop sparkling for a second.

And Seungho believed in the rumors of SangHyun success, saying he was acting in tons of dramas, winning awards for his solo albums, modeling for fashion weeks and gaining fans all around. Then a shout sounded in his mind, that voice not calling his name, shouting instead, angry and crazy. Stop pulling me down! An image followed the path, entering his head, of his visual maknae always far from the cameras, waiting for his time to talk, for his own time to do something, to prove anything. Waiting and waiting and waiting. The chance never reaching him.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t stay there anymore. The room was suffocating and there was too many people around him, and his vision was blurring, he knew he wasn’t ready for that, no more fooling. His head moved to his side, murmuring something too low for Byunghee to understand, and his hands drowned into his pockets as his feet were giving ghost and desperate steps to the balcony. By his back, he still could hear the party small talk, specially Sanghyun’s voice towards Changsun, saying he hoped the watch was for his taste. It felt like he was running because when he was finally safe in the fresh air, he realized the panting, and his hands passed through his hair, trying to calm down. No one could see him anymore there, the cream curtains were hiding his state, and now the sound of the night emerged his conscious, the cars passing by down there in the streets, and the people talking while walking.

How a man of 31 years old lost himself like that? He wondered, when his own body moved to sit on the chair in the left corner of the balcony. The shadow of him disappeared and he was hiding again in the only place the curtains couldn’t draw his silhouette. Seungho rested his arms and back on the chair, trying so hard to erase the feel of being wrong, a feeling that followed him through the years, he was not even sure why, and he’d be thinking time after time it was not his fault, Sanghyun wanted to leave, Sanghyun wanted to leave since the beginning, but flashes of that embrace in the dark always blinded his vision. The long arms wrapping his torso, pleading for the words he never said. SangHyun wanted to leave, and you just let him. His chest stuffed in a heavy breath, and his face was supported by his right hand while his gentle fingers rubbed his eyes.

And the time passed and passed, running from the party, yet Seungho didn’t intend to go back, he needed time to pull his thoughts together, and prepare for the moment he would have to talk to the boy— man who never failed to haunt this dreams, nightmares and life.

“Hey, old man,” the melody voice called from the curtains opening and Seungho looked up to see the face of Byunghee, wrinkles creeping the end of his eyes as age had found both of them. “We’re going to cut the cake, let’s go.”

He stood up with difficulty, but he was glad Byunghee waited patiently by him, and when he stepped out the balcony, the arm circulated on his shoulders in a safe shield. His eyelashes fell to protect his eyes from the sudden light, he even felt dizzy, dropping his head and caressing his forehead with the back of his hands.

“Oh, finally!” he heard Changsun say when his presence was noticed.

“He is almost drunk already,” Byunghee lied, and small laughter filled the room. “You know he likes to drink in parties.”

And Seungho didn't open his eyes just yet, or fixed his posture, for a reason he was happy Byunghee had his back there, but why the idea of getting drunk alone sounded so much sadder than the reality? He was just clearing his mind.

The happy birthday song started and all the clapping, so he forced himself to hold his head up high, sing and clap. And when he did so still in the prison of Byunghee’s arm, the flame inside of him flicked, noticing next to Changsun the presence of Sanghyun again. A wide smile, with the chocolate eyes staring at Seungho, he was singing maybe, because Seungho could see the lips moving, but he couldn’t hear the voice, he couldn’t hear his own voice. He felt small and he finally noticed there was no escaping from that, not that night.

So he tamed it, and lowering his stare to the cake as Changsun was cutting the pieces. There was no move from both of them, Sanghyun was still close there, not giving the first step, and Seungho waited quietly, supporting himself on Byunghee. He waited four years, thirty minutes couldn’t hurt more than that.

The next minutes were a fraction of a look that meant the unspoken words, and when everybody else began to disappear to eat and chat. Seungho slowly turned to Byunghee, gently took the arm around his shoulder and excused himself, this time walking back to the balcony with a confusion in his mind, and his body was so light in his hiding that only someone would know where he was. A glimpse behind his back and he saw the smile changing into a serious face when he also started to walk.

A chain was circulating his chest and holding it in a way he couldn’t breath anymore, squeezing and squeezing. And the cold air of the night slapped his cheeks and his eyes failed right there when his hands grabbed the glass in front, supporting his weight and supporting his sanity. And the breathing was coming from his mouth, the air so hard, it almost hurt his lungs the drastic way it was entering and burning his throat the way out. His eyes were everywhere, but not focusing any where, rolling on the buildings, the sky and he felt dizzy once again that night. If he only...

“Seungho?”

And everything was gone. Vanished in the deep blue clouds, and flying away with the calm wind. Just because of that voice, and that way of calling for him like a ghost on his nape, whispering his name over and over on his ear. He heard the footsteps, the weight of the body colliding onto the ground and clicking with the shoes, a loud bang into his mind only increasing the closer he felt the presence. A sweet smell was smoking out the night and Seungho recognized the perfume, and he missed it. His body was becoming numb, dope. And in numbness, he couldn’t move to look behind, he couldn’t move at all. He could only sense that ghost from the past crossing his path and stopping by his side. But his eyes were still on the buildings, and his mind was saying it was the worst time to be a coward.

A small nose laugh and it started. “Are you still mad at me?”

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