If someone asked me what I would do for his sake, I wouldn't answer "anything".

I wouldn't cry for him, because I know that would lead him to cry as well. Seeing him cry those salty tears for sadness makes me feel miserable. I hate feeling miserable.

I wouldn't die for him. The pain that situation would cause him is an unbearable thought. I don't want to be the reason he's in pain.


-


He is standing in front of me. I can't see his face, he has his back turned at my direction. But I know he's smiling, eyes closed. If I close my eyes I can see his bright face right in front of me. His face is bathing in the sun, cracks of sunlight caress his closed eyes, his cheeks, his pure, light skin.

He spreads his hands to his sides, like wings. He's an angel. It looks like he is ready to embrace the whole, wide world. Every little part of it, not missing one tiny piece. I don't doubt that he could heal it. He could wipe away all the tired and sad faces, and turn them into loving, soothing smiles. I've experienced it.

There's a halo above his head.


-


Every season with him is a reason to enjoy life to the fullest.

In autumn he picks up red, yellow and orange leaves from the ground, making a big bouquet out of them. When I stand further away not to get my clothes all muddy and wet from the moist leaves, he runs to me with that colorful madness in his hands, yells "Sissy" to my ear and throws the leaves up to the air where they float back to us, like kites. And I forget about trying to keep myself clean and let him grab me to his arms and let him pull us down to the dark, wet, ground. His soft and child-like smile makes my heart skip a beat. I cut his laughter off by kissing him. He kisses back.



When the first snowflakes stick to our eyelashes in winter I can hear him in the living room. I can hear his long fingers dance across the piano keys. They create a soft, floating melody that flows through the rooms to me and makes me follow it back to him. He plays the piano his back turned to the doorway. His determination for the instrument and for music is clearly visible. I watch him play for hours before my heart takes the lead and pulls me to him gently. My arms intertwine around him and I kiss his hair. A tear falls to his cheek from the corner of his eye. He continues to play, even with tears blinding his eyes and wetting his face. We both cry, we cry tears of love and passion. His fingers move from the keys to my face and he wipes my closed eyes with his fingers. Our tears are dedicated to joy. Us forever, our unbreakable love for each other and for our passion.
We stay still until the dawn breaks in through the window.



In spring, when it's already warm, we sit on our balcony when the clock hasn't even reached 10 a.m. He pours us coffee from the coffee pot and hands me the filled mug. He drinks his coffee black, I ask him to pass me the milk. And there we sit again, watching each other intensely and every now and then sipping our coffee.

Then he suddenly gestures: "Should we go out for a swim?"

I lose track and feel awfully confused. "Out for...a swim?"

He chuckles and pulls me by the hand and through our apartment. "Whatever you're expecting from me, you shouldn't expect at all." We go out the door and to the park opening close to our home. We are out in our pyjamas, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. It's no use.

"Whatever you want from me, you most deffinitely won't get", he whispers and without warning pushes me to a small fountain in the middle of the park.

I try to catch my breath but the water blocks my lugns. "You...you...son of a-"

And then he's in the water too. Pulled by me or on his own, I can't tell.

When I'm in his arms he starts to create silly words.

"I could call you tomorrow and ask if you wanted to meet me. If you'd like to kiss my neck in the cold gateway. Or I could make me some coffee and forget..."

Early people pass us with disagreement covering their faces. But they are just people, lost in their own lives.

"You confuse me, man", I smile and he takes us underwater.

Understanding is not the main point.



It's summer now, the sun has set behind the trees and we sit with our other friends in a meadow in the middle of a quiet forest. I hold my guitar close to my chest. Everyone's starting to leave for the cottage. The fire is starting to burn out.

"You people gonna come?" one of the guys, Jaejoong, asks.

I'm about to answer yes to his question, but Yoochun answers faster.

"Not quite yet. Su's gonna play me another song."

"'Kay then. See you in a bit", Jaejoong says and leaves.

I watch Yoochun in a daze. The dying fire reflects from his dark eyes. I bring my fingers to the neck of the guitar.

"This is the last song I'm going to play for you tonight."

He nods, sparks in his feisty eyes. Like a stubborn child.

And I play. He listens. In its simplicity the moment brings us closer to its essence. I don't want this feeling to go away.

I hear the guys' voices somewhere far away. They're almost covered by the singing of the forest. He closes his eyes and hums along with the melody I'm playing.

There's smoke above us.


-


He pulls his shoulders to his ears and walks towards me on the empty street. I don't think he recognizes me, I have the hood of my jacket over my head. It's raining.

He stops when he's about five meters in front of me. When I'm closer he whispers:

"I made coffee and tried to forget."

I sigh in relief. So he did notice me.

"How did it come out?" I try to sound convincing.

"It really didn't work for me", he smiles a little. It's the same smile I never forgot during these painful weeks.

The water keeps pouring over us. I lick my bottom lip and taste a hint of salt. "It didn't?"

He steps closer. "Black, with milk, cold or hot. It didn't taste the way it tasted with you."

I lift my head, just enough to meet his eyes.

He takes my hand and we run. We run until a dark, cold gateway comes in the way. Someone has left the gate open.

He pulls me in and pushes me against the stony wall, at the same time violently and gently. Brings his lips close to mine, like searching for something familiar. I feel his warm breath on my skin.

We can't wait any longer for each other.

I kiss him. Kiss him hard. He tastes like rain and coffee. Black coffee.

He brushes my hair with his fingers, still kissing my mouth. I pull my face away a bit so that I can reach his neck with my lips. He's warm.

Now the cold can not reach me anymore.

Those weeks I spent with cold, lonely and pain seem only a far away nightmares now. He caresses my face with his rainy hands.

"I'm sorry."

That sentence freaks me out like nothing else. I want to tell him that there's absolutely nothing in the world he should apologise to me. But no words come out. I again kiss him and hold his face now in my hands. He knows what I'm trying to say.

"Shh..."

There are tears developing to my eyes. I try to shake them away. I wouldn't cry for him.

"You and me..." I try to make my tears go.

He puts his finger to my lips.

"We are meant to be."



The halo has never been brighter.


-


Some lines are borrowed (& edited) from the Finnish band's, Scandinavian Music Group's, songs called "Mustana, maidolla, kylmänä, kuumana" and "Vieläkö soitan banjoa" (freely translated to English the songs' names are "Black, with milk, cold, hot" and "Do I still play the banjo"). This band has also been a huge inspiration in creating this fanfic.


Please, leave comments! I'd like to know your opinions.