Name of my Love | on hold

fifteen

Growing in

I silently watch him sleep on the couch, curled up, with drool threatening to escape out from the corner of his lips, slightly parted. His eyelashes dominantly show off their beauty, spread like artist's paintbrush on a colouring palate.

I don't quite remember what woke me up, certainly, the afternoon heat. It wouldn't make much difference if I add the fact that my own thoughts weren't letting me sleep peacefully, and a nightmare woke me up. I'm still not used to the horrible nightmares. These haven't translated into the reality but aren't just a part of my imagination either. They reside somewhere in-between.

The clock ticks.

The birds chirp.

And he softly snores.

The only sounds that cocoon me in the thin air.

The sky is as azure as the day I first met him, and the afternoon is turning intense with its light paining the eyesight, rays come penetrating through the glass panes. Standing in front, hindering the intense rays from reaching him, I tug an infinitesmally small smile. I don't want him to wake up, even though he's been asleep for hours. Partly because I'm not in a position to face him. All the time we spent together, have now melted with the dreams, becoming a part of it.

Reality is not what I demand. It's fine as a mere figment of my imagination but it isn't the case here. It's real. It was real, it happened and breathed like a life.

After we came back from our morning ride (which he emphasised to be a date), reminder : a pretend one, he slumped against the couch and instantly pressed himself into slumber. I adjusted the pillow underneath his head, draped a blanket over him and made sure his legs were comfortably laid over the couch, partially floating in air. Blame his towering height.

The silence we were breathing while coming back made me dead-silent as 'rock'. A living rock. Stiff, hard, brittle but breakable. Nonetheless, I was calm as resting water, with a ray of hope shimmering inside, coincidentally parallel to the sunrise outside. It wasn't awkward but instead weightless and more comfortable, breathing next to him became easier. And it is the sole reason, I was quiet. The level of comfort was new to grasp. New but not at all disturbing.

It's twenty past twelve in the afternoon but it is equivalent to a fresh morning after sombre nights of crying. As if the soreness of the throat has been medicated, and it's healing.

Thank you, Jungkook, for putting back my pieces together.

A knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. Standing up on my feet, I turn towards the door and start lumbering in the said direction.

Standing right in front of the wooden door, I narrow my eyes at the peeking-hole. It's Taehyung.

It has been almost a week since I last saw him, the last time we met, he delivered me the food, which came right from the restaurant his mother manages. At least that's what I came to know from Jungkook. Tae also helped me with the recipe book and taught me one or two basic things that is compulsory to survive in Korea. One out of which included; language. Koreans speak it in two forms – formal and informal (according to what he told me) and rest I've forgotten because I didn't pay attention to them, but might have followed unconsciously. Who knows.