I never told this to anyone, simply because I hated the way it went.
Simply because I hate the fact that I kept on hurting him during those times, and he kept on forgiving me, and because it was something precious.
"I understand," He'll always say. "I know you didn't mean it."
... But I'm going to tell you the truth.
This is our story.
And I'm giving you the permission to hear it.
To know it.
I met him back when the world was bleak.
That one day when it was raining and school is suspended.
He was a Korean, you know.
He told me, above the bitter coffee and the textbooks that were long forgotten, everything he believed in, simply because it was already silent, and because he was lonely, and the rain is making us more solemn than we should be.
His older brother died the day before we met. He told me that they were never in good relationship, but he admit that he loves his brother, and that he knows that the feeling is mutual. He told me that he was, in other words, afraid, because they were left alone, and that they went through anything together, no matter what happened, but now he was all alone and he isn't sure how he would handle all of it.
I never told him my name, and he never told his. At the end of the day, he laughed, albeit bitterly, and thanked me for listening.
I ran to him again two days after that.
His eyes smiled at me and he asked me if I want to go have a tea, or maybe a coffee, with him.
He never recieved an answer, but that was because he was dragging me already.
I should've broken free. I should've shoved him.
But I didn't.
We're back at the same cafe, at the same table, and he was looking at me, telling me that it was his turn to listen.
"A payback," He said, while looking at his tea.
I don't know why I told him things that would be equal to what he said.
I don't know why I blabbered that i have a brother that was too protective, or why I have someone who is English that is taking care of me. I don't know why I said that I like firecrackers, or fireworks, or why I found martial arts interesting.
He listened as I tell him things that I have repeated to myself during nights. He then, at the end, told me that he understand.
He smiled at me, and I just noticed that his cup is already empty and mine is halfway gone.
I found out his name the day after that.
"My name's Im Yong Soo," he said, his hands full of books. "You could call me Yong Soo, or something." He grinned.
My brother, Yao, blinked when I told him about him.
"Oh," he whispered. "I know his brother."
"The dead one?"
"Yes," He coughed out. "Terrible accident. 'Got into a fight because of work, and somehow he was stabbed."
I mentally winced. "How is the one left surviving now?"
He shrugged. "He was working, I guess."
"Eh, for me?"
He looked at me, then to the lunch box I was holding out for him.
"Yes," I replied, my voice in mono tone.
He softly smiled. "Thanks," then he paused. "Are you going to eat with me?"
I looked back, then I decided that maybe I'm not missing out on anyhting, if ever, so I nodded.
We talked while eating, his voice more comforting than anyone this days.
Maybe because it's a remainder for me that someone is close.
And that he was still there.
That day, on the rooftop, with him talking to me and me nodding off and answering something here and there, I told myself that there shouldn't be anything to be afraid of.
There shouldn't be.
Months after that, a new student was introduced in the class.
His name was Erik.
He sat beside me, and he was silent.
I forgot who talked first, or how I found out that he was Icelandic, but his brother was a Norwegian, and that they were living with other people from the Scandavania.
I also forgot how I started spending more time with him than Yong Soo.
I only noticed it when brother asked me why I'm not making two lunch boxes anymore.
I said that I'm sure he'll understand.
"I just don't want you going around hurting someone," He said, and I looked away.
I'm sure he'll understand.
I told Erik that I won't be able to join him at lunch.
He just waved me off, and said that it's okay.
Holding both lunchbox, I walked up to the rooftop, and I saw him at his usual spot, and he bitterly smiled at me when I approached him.
"I know," he said, when I gave him the lunch box that he, thankfully, took.
He said it before I could even say anything. "And I understand."
"Just..." He looked down.
I followed where he was looking at.
Erik.
"Make up your mind." He whispered. "And I'll understand."
It was Christmas Eve.
Erik invited me for dinner at their house.
"So they'll know you," He said, looking away. I shrugged and agreed.
Christmas rolled in and Yao told me it's okay to go. He ushered me out of the house, and I reached Erik's house in no time.
"Oya, you're Erik's friend?" A hyper-active blonde grinned at me.
Strange, I felt that something was familiar with that.
"Mathias, let him in," A calmer voice came up from behind him, dragged the person away.
"You're here." Erik finally came to my view, and he let me in.
I don't know how I remembered him.
Somewhere in the duration of the dinner, I just...remembered. I felt my hands shake, and I bit my lips.
I did it again.
I forgot him.
"I-I'm sorry," I suddenly called to them, and they all stopped talking to look at me. "I...I forgot I have something to do."
I stood up, and apologized once more, before putting on my coat, then shoes, then went out of the house.
They all looked at Erik.
The youngest shrugged.
"I knew it would happen," he said, looking down. "At least I tried."
Mathias was the first to talk. "You're right, kiddo," he said, then he approached Erik, giving a comforting hug.
"At least you tried."
I reached his house, panting, and I realized that no one was home.
I stood there for a while, contemplating on what is happening, and on what I was doing, and I realized that I hurt him again, that I left him all alone despite that fact that he was always there, and I can't help but feel like I betrayed him, and I was so confused, confused because I was hurt-
And I just faced the fact that he meant a lot to me, that he was this special person, and that I-
I love him.
Someone called my name, and I saw him standing by his gate, his hand holding a bouquet, and I can see, despite the darkness, that his face was etched with confusion.
"I-"
It was as if the words I was about to say were stuck on my throat, and it hurts to breath, and my heart were beating faster than normal and-
I just want him close.
Because I realized that there is always something to be afraid of.
And I don't want him to be gone, like his brother.
I don't want him to be somewhere else.
I just want him to be near.
I ran up to him, and hugged him.
"-sorry," I heard myself, and just held him tighter. "I'm sorry."
He hugged me back, and his hands were still holding the flowers.
"Hush," He whispered. "Don't cry."
It was only then that I felt the cold tears on my cheeks, dripping down, and no matter how much I tried, they just kepp on flowing. It was holding my fear, my realizations, and my own understanding.
"I understand," He said, again. And this time, I understand it, too.
"I understand."
There are things that were never needed to be said so that you will know.
In our case, we don't need to say I love you, just so we will know that we love each other, even though he does say it sometimes, at night, whispering to me whenever we were going to sleep, or when in times where we were just sitting inside the living room with the lights off and the rain falling down.
And I say it, too. Everytime I hug him, or even just hold his hand. Everytime I lean on his shoulders, or at times when I just simply want to be closer to him.
I say it without words, because he always understands.
And I know that whenever he say those words, it was a remainder that he loves me, that he would never let me go, and that he was still there.
This is our story.
This is the story that I never want to tell anyone, because it was something precious; a story that holds an unspoken vow and an unbreakable understanding between two people.
But now that I already told you this, I hope you understand.
[A/N:
It seems that I can't make a story without making someone sad, or without killing someone.
This is made during the Bloodbath, and was squeezed between the F5'ing and the ninja updates.
So sorry for some... stuffs.
Yes, it was Hong Kong who was narrating the story, and North Koreas was killed. OTL In order for me to write South Korea as someone I wanted to portray him as- understanding, a little more solemn, and less obnixious-, I need to take away someone from him. And it was also a bonus that he never got to tell North that he love him and that each other was all they had.
The music for this is "Safe and Sound". The soundtrack for The Hunger Games. Which is weird.
Thank you for reading! And please review? (It's my birthday today, haha.) ~ ]