He couldn't help himself.
Who could blame him for being so helplessly trapped? Yao was quite simply, the apple of his eye. The center of his world. The crown jewel of the earth. Yong Soo couldn't explain what it was that made Yao so alluring. Was it his smile? His grace? That ancient wisdom in his eyes, seemingly older than the stars themselves?
Oh, Yong Soo had never been happier to be so wonderfully, wonderfully helpless.
There was only one problem—every time he talked to Yao, it seemed, he made a fool of himself. He said something stupid—immature. He always managed to do something to drive Yao away. He was really, truly, unworthy of someone so wonderful.
All he could do was admire from afar—lose himself in thoughts of being enveloped in Yao's warmth and love. He daydreamed of his fingers slipping through Yao's inky black hair, the locks cascading across his skin like a velvety waterfall. He imagined the sweetness of Yao's lips against his face, peppering the skin with kisses. He fantasized about what it would be like to hear Yao say the words, "I love you," to him, and only him, and mean them.
Oh, how his heart ached. But he would wait. He would wait a thousand years if he had to.
It wasn't like he hadn't waited that long already.