“So…this is where you spent your childhood, huh?” A deep voice interrupted the quiet of the night, snapping you attention to the man that was part of the survival group.
You were perched on what used to be your rooftop, now almost completely shattered but still intact enough that you had felt safe when you’d climbed up. There was no electricity to speak of anymore, so the night sky was clear where it had never been during your childhood, allowing you to see the stars.
You nodded slowly, keeping your gaze fixed on the house in front. “It was a loud neighborhood, you know. There were a lot of younger kids then, so they all came out to play together.”
Wonwoo chuckled softly, already making his way to sit next to you, his shoulder bumping yours once he was settled. There was a stretch of silence, and you couldn’t even hear the ruckus that must’ve been happening downstairs. You remembered before the war, how your family’s noise would make you hide outon the very rooftop you now sat at with Wonwoo.
Wonwoo shuffled for a moment, reaching into his heavy jacket to pull out a small rectangle you couldn’t see well in the darkness. “I found this, in your room.” He said sheepishly, his voice sweet even in its deep tones. You reached out to grab the mystery object, smiling a little when you realized it was a book.
“You must’ve looked really hard then, hm?” you asked softly, flipping through the pages you wished you could see.
Wonwoo threw his arm around you then. “I could tell it was your favorite book because of all the notes you wrote in the margins.” He answered instead, his large hand rubbing soothingly against your arm.
You leaned into the warmth he offered, even if you knew he was trying to take any he could from you. You leaned into his arm, your eyes fluttering shut. “It’s strange to be here, you know. I can almost pretend that this is what my life would have ended up like.” The words came out on their own, but their truth held.
And so, with Wonwoo grounding you as he had so many times since you’d found each other, you let yourself believe for a moment that this is what life could be like, had the world not fallen apart.
Your feet tread on in a haste, worn out boots you’ve had for five years too long move across the tiled floor of the campus building with speed.
“Hey, wait!”
Most days, you wouldn’t have looked back. It’s been engraved in your head - the identity that you’ve accepted for yourself: a mere ghost.
You see, you only get your share of attention when the night creeps in and lonely souls search for something to fill the void. You find it ironic, really, when they take hold of your face and smash their lips on yours, red lipstick smearing messily as it marks both of your skins.
It’s ironic how they choose you to fill their void - because how can something so dead and empty do that?
But for some unknown reason, you do look back. You’re unsure why. Maybe it’s the sound of his voice - gentle albeit him calling out for you from a distance. Your stance is stiff, your hands shoved deep down your coat, shoulders rolled defensively and your arms tight to your body in an attempt to hide the dirt you feel inside for spending another night in some stranger’s bed.
Your gaze meets a tall figure trying to catch up to you amidst the cramped crowd by the building hallway. His face doesn’t register to you as familiar so for a moment, you contemplate on continuing to move along. But just as you start to turn your body away from him, he brings his arm up and waves it frantically.
“Hey, wait!” He calls out again, stretching his neck amongst the wave of people to keep you in his line of sight.
You stop in your tracks. When he finally catches up to you, your head has to tilt up a little to look at him in the eye. He’s tall - really tall - with dark hair and a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He opens his mouth to speak and you notice the smile lines that appear as the corner of his lips tug upwards.
“Um, hi.” He breathes out awkwardly. His chest is still rising and falling from trying to get to you and your head starts to come up with explanations why.
Maybe he knows you from a friend. Maybe he’s seen you from a club or a party. Maybe he’s about to ask if you’d be available for tonight.
And although the taste of cheap alcohol still lingers in your mouth, you’ve already decided to say yes if he ever asks.
“So, um. My name is Xu Minghao. I’m a visual arts student here,” he starts. You’re taken aback for a moment before you nod.
“I started out this little project of mine and… I was wondering if I could take a photo of you.”
You look at him wordlessly and blink. It is only then you realize that he is, in fact, holding a camera in his hands. The whole situation hasn’t really registered in your brain but again, you nod slowly anyway.
He flashes you a smile, a warm one, a smile that didn’t mean he wants your body, asking you to spend the night. A smile so normal and humane yet, you forget the last time you’re in the receiving end of one.
The whole time you haven’t uttered a single word. Students pass by you in the same haste that you were in just minutes ago but you find yourself in your own bubble with this stranger in front of you as you nod in response.
Minghao brings the camera to his face, aligning his eyes to the viewfinder as you stand by the lockers, tensed.
“So about the project…” He trails off.
You just look at him expectantly to keep going.
“I take pictures of things I find beautiful.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “Sorry?”
You know that your hair is disheveled, that remnants of eyeliner still ring around your lids from last night, and that your lips are pale and chapped. You know this because you took a look in some stranger’s mirror in their bathroom this morning as they continue to sleep. And you know this because you tried to wash off the tears that were welling in your eyes from the shame and you’re struggling because the thing that makes you feel so shameful has been what’s keeping you alive so you drown out all these thoughts as you silently slip off from the stranger’s room like you always do as you leave another piece of you in someone else’s bed and yet here you are, standing in the middle of the hallway looking like your absolute worst but someone has it in them to see beauty in an empty, dying thing. It takes a moment for you to let it sink in.
He just called you beautiful - without having to be tangled under the same sheets, without the alcohol swimming in his system, without the look of lust in his eyes.
“I - I’m sorry. I don’t know how to-”
He shakes his head, “ah, don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, the warmth in them reaches you as it sinks into your skin. “Just yourself is more than enough.”
And so you let Minghao capture the sadness in your eyes slowly dissipate, how the emptiness in your gaze progressively brighten with life, and how your lips - though with a little hesitation - lift upwards ever so slightly to a genuine smile.
Music fills your ears, muted but still louder than your eardrums find at all comfortable, as soon as you enter the building. You glance at your wristwatch, deduce quite quickly that Soonyoung must be going through rehearsals again. It’s impressive, in a way, how committed the man is to putting on a show. Though, if what Minghao has told you is true, the smile-y dancer is motivated by a need to make up for cash he loses by not doing private dances anymore more than he’s interested in making sure his cowboy routine is up to snuff.
The dancer in question spots you almost immediately from his position on the stage, squints against the harsh light to make out your features. He calls your name, waves wildly. God, you think, hand raising to wave tentatively back. That hat looks absolutely ridiculous. As if on cue, Soonyoung tips his hat, and a snort tears from the back of your throat.
“There’s some redbull for you in the kitchen,” Soonyoung half yells from the stage as you make your way towards the back rooms. There’s laughter in the sound of his voice, a sort of spring to his step that didn’t use to be there before. “Don’t tell Hao!”
The last thing you hear before entering the back room is Soonyoung’s loud snickering before he turns the music back on.
→synopsis: (Based on the song Messages From You by Drake) For someone who experienced being left by a person he loves without a word, Soonyoung might have been the most foolish one to still hope for his lover to come back. Everyday, he counts the number of days since you left, and he remembers the details in a certain day. During his months of healing, someone comes in his life who happened to give him a short-term happiness as he thinks that this person could be the one for him. But not until he finally receives a message from you after months of long wait.
Soonyoung
shifts on his seat, then proceeds to take a shot of strong gin, swallows the
liquid and ignores the bitter taste of it. Tonight is the night when he forces
(or attempts) himself to abandon the vivid image of your face engraved in his
mind; lips coated with ruby red, a complementary dress embracing the curves of
your body that tones a perfect hourglass. He hates the growing butterflies in
the pit of his stomach as he imagines snaking an arm around your waist and
pulling you close to him, the scent of the lavender fabric conditioner
lingering through the caves of his nostrils, and a glint in your eyes that only
sparks whenever you see him. He does not only miss your taste, nor your smell;
he misses you and everything about you.
He’s a fool for counting the days
since you left. The numbers are continuously increasing—185 days without you—and he only wishes for it to stop and for you to
come back.
