separated by the stars

1

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"Well go on, say hello!"

A mother's words aren't nearly enough incentive to push an inhibited child to meet a curious stranger.

Instead, his hands tighten around the hem of her skirt and he buries his face further into her fabric, avoiding the child before him at all costs. Inwardly, he questions if his mother is even human. How could she bring him to a place he does not know, all to meet a child he has no desire to grow to recognize? It's too much, too scary, and happening all at once.

His mother chuckles as she presses her hand comfortingly on her son's head of hair, so smooth and perfectly combed to perfection. As it is supposed to be when one meets the heir to the kingdom. If only to uphold the facade of perfection and subtle grace. And for a family as prestigious as theirs, they can not let the close friendship between the two bloodlines be spoiled by a bashful child afraid of his own shadow.

"I'm terribly sorry. Luka isn't normally so shy."

Luka pouts behind the multitude of his mother's skirts, but he doesn't move from her safety. 

Just because she's sullying his good name doesn't mean he has to prove her wrong. Here, it's safe and familiar, why would he want to leave? Besides, it's not as if her lies would help coerce him out of the comfort of her warmth. If he could he would stay there forever, safe and sound within her touch.

However, the world seems to have other plans.

When he feels the warmth of another small hand wrap around his, he lets out a cry of surprise before it pulls him out of that comfort, that small but safe cocoon. He would have pitched a fit and fought against the stranger's grip if it weren't for the calming effect the two large eyes in front of him had.

His face is round and rosy, with curls of soft honeydew locks resting atop his ductile glowing skin. His brown eyes are framed with long eyelashes, a cute button round nose resting above his pursed pink rosy lips. He tilts his head, those eyes holding Luka's with a subtle but firm entrancement. At that moment, there was something about the person in front of him that ignited a small but sure flame in Luka's innocent heart.

"Oh good! Luka, meet Christopher."

So that's who he is.

"Bang Christopher Chan." 

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This is the first time we've met again.

The first time in six years.

If I try hard enough I can still envision the two twelve-year-old boys chasing each other through these expansive halls. A desperate attempt at finding some comfort and comradery in an otherwise cold and empty cage. Now I stand a considerable distance away, watching as he greets our party warmly, his mother standing dutifully by his side.

He's grown taller over the years, perhaps even taller than I am. His brown curls have grown as well, but are cut closely to his head, a futile attempt at taming them. I remember when he told me that one day he would grow them out, that he wanted to let at least one thing in his life roam free. I didn't understand what he meant back then, I wonder if I do now. Nevertheless, I can't help but feel a bit sad that his wish was never fulfilled.

As those beautiful brown eyes find mine, I swallow hard at the small jump in my chest.

Even after all these years, my feelings are still the same. I had prayed that I would have forgotten. That it was nothing more than a childhood crush; a mere admiration. But as those lips form into a gorgeous smile bringing forth adorned dimples and a soft crinkle to his eyes, I know that it was foolish for me to even think time would be enough to forget about him.

"Luka."

God, even the way he says my name is too much to even begin to dream to handle.

I try to ignore the small hope that blossoms in my chest at the thought that he has remembered me after all. That even if he only remembers my name it would be enough to...

What exactly? What is it that I want from him?

Or rather...what is it that I cannot have?

I bow as he nears me, and he pauses, a perplexed look appearing in his eyes.

I don't exactly understand why, after all, this is standard protocol when meeting one of nobility. Granted, I am not much different, but our families are in agreement. Such an agreement that his family requires my utmost respect and gratitude. After all, the only reason we are here is because of their generosity. A great favor was granted to us to unite our kingdoms and bring power and prosperity to our people.

A favor created in the form of holy matrimony.

As I stare at him, I hope he remembers the reason why we are here. I pray he sees the necessity for formality and distance. Things cannot be as they once were, perhaps they never will and that is a sacrifice we have to make.

But Bangchan, being the way he is, pays no mind to my clear warning. He shakes his head, taking the final steps that keep us apart before wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.

He's warm.

I don't know why that is the first thought that appears in my head, but it is an important one.

He's warm. 

His warmth spreads through my body and encompasses me. His hands are large but tender and sure as they hold me close to his body. They treat me as something precious. As though I was something to be protected. And so I have no choice but to give in to their careful touch.

In the back of my throat, I can feel a knot of sorrow begin to tie its first threads.

It takes me a moment but I return the hug, burying my head into his shoulder as though that would erase any sign of regret. Perhaps I can bury everything here and now and forget about it. Perhaps this is the way I can move on.

But when he pulls away, smiling at me, his eyes sparkling with golden happiness and affection, I can't help it as the knot begins to grow tighter.

How am I supposed to get over you when you look at me that way? As though I were the reason you existed in this world? How could you be so cruel when we both know I was meant to be nothing more than a close friend? An accomplice, a dear companion, your only confidant.

"It's good to see you again, Luka."

And yet...

"Yes, I've missed you, my dear friend."

Why does it feel like we're so far from the truth? 

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