TO THE BOY I LOVE
He lays awake on his bed.
He thinks that he should sleep since it is past twelve. Thirteen minutes before one and he still had no wink of sleep. He knows he should close his eyes. He knows he should rest.
But every time he did manage to keep his eyes shut, he dreams of him.
He dreamt of his smile.
He dreamt of his laughter.
He dreamt of the blue of his eyes.
He dreamt of his dreams, of his chuckles, of his pout, of the way he walks and talks, of the way his hair seems so wild to keep. He dreamt of his warmth, of how cold he could be, of how bright he really is.
And he dreamt of how he loves him.
And how he almost does.
He sees him everywhere because he's a busybody that buzzes from place to place. And he always wondered if he's chasing someone important that slowing down his walk is not an option. He is always running around—from here to there to anywhere.
He is chasing the whole wide world for something that he only sees through his ever imaginative curious green orbs.
He always wonders if he'll ever let him see what his eyes let him create. And when he closed the distance a little, he would go on with his own form of chase—never giving time a rest for fear that he may lose his way.
But he always knew that he pauses, looking from his shoulder to see if he is still watching and following. And then off he goes again with his pursuit when he sees that he is walking a snail pace behind him.
He would see the slightest of quirk in his face and he would realize that he really does love him.
He still remembers when he had confessed.
His eyes were glossy with shyness and fear. His hands were trembling. His heart is shaking and his voice is strained.
They were out with all their friends. They were strolling about from a spot to another as if they own the whole area. They were a loud bunch—laughter pouring out from each of them. It was the warmest sight that friendship could paint.
Then suddenly, he falls back from their group. His face deep in contemplation. And he thinks it is strange that the four boys he's quite close to didn't even blink an eye at his sudden dawdle. He should have known.
His hands were cold when he grabs his.
'He's nervous.' He thought.
His eyes were flickering from left to right before he looks him directly in the eyes.
"Don't say anything yet. Whatever I say, don't say anything yet." He was tensed, defensive the way his voice shook.
He nodded his head and smiled, "What is it?"
"I swear to myself not to fall in love but life is full of surprises, isn't it, Alfred? You came and I fell in love with you." He did not stammer nor slightly pause to breathe. He said it in one whole sentence that did not leave a room to rethink.
And he remembers that his face was the reddest. He remembers how he let his hands go. He remembers how he then ran after the gang. He remembers how he pauses and looks back before reaching their friends.
You came and I fell in love with you.
God, how honest this man is with his feelings.
He always wrote his heart on washed out papers. And he's always more honest with the pieces of parcels than to any of his friends.
He always wanted to hide his fears away—not wanting to bother them with his silliness. He always wrote on his papers, which swore to always keep his deepest secrets, of him.
He wrote many things.
It started with how he felt when he's around the first few days they had known each other. It continued with how his crush seems to be getting stronger. The next pages contained of the things caged in his heart.
He turned the next chapter and saw the part where he fell in love with him and the part that he's always jealous of the girls he is with especially when he's not around.
He's afraid that he might forget how much he loves him with all of these pretty women surrounding him. He's afraid of him falling for someone else. He's so afraid that he may never love him back. He's afraid that he will never be good enough for him.
And in his fear, his tears wet the papers with all his insecurities and doubts.
Every day and every night, whether his eyes do or his heart does, he cries. Most of the time the beating part of his soul does the weeping. But, sometimes when the heaviness is too much, clouds turn into silver drops and made a river down his cheeks.
But he never tells another soul about his crying.
He always insisted with his thin ghost of a smile the next day. And when his eyes are puffy red, he would open a sad, sad movie and blame it for his swollen eyes. Everybody almost believed him.
But there really are people who knew you really well.
He could fool half the universe but not his friends—never them.
And he knew that he always wondered if he ever sees through his act. He almost always does. But he's so good at pretending that he doesn't have any clue that he knew he constantly confused him.
He turns another page and sees on his heart the carving of new doubts.
Does he love me?
He, himself, does not know.
Am I not good enough?
God knows how he deserves better.
I'm so tired of feeling so insecure… so, so tired…
His heart clenches a little in fear. He asked himself if he'll stop loving him for failing to make him feel secure.
He wonders.
He's by the doorway of the room next to his. He's talking with his classmate.
He was a tall guy with a humor he thinks that is dead. He is handsome enough that many girls seem to swoon when he walks. But he's different.
He loves someone already. And he knew that he loves him too much to ever think of flirting with other guys such as his classmate.
He laughs at his joke and he thinks that it's really not funny at all. His eyes flickered from his companion to him and he saw the way his eyes light in that special way every time he's around. His heart skips a beat when he tilted her head a little to the side, waved his hand as an acknowledgement of his presence, and smiled that upward quirk of his lips that is different from the smile he gives everyone else.
And he was reminded again by how lucky he is for having someone like him loves him.
He felt so special when he's around.
He's walking down the ground of their college and his hand holds another one. He was smiling kindly and sweetly and his insecurity is suffocating him so much that it is getting harder for him to breathe.
He once thought that he was special to him too. That he was treated differently from other people. That he was sweeter with him. That he was kinder with him. That he offers him his sweetest and most charming smile.
But as he continued to walk down the ground and away from him, he felt like the dullest boy in the whole world.
Summer and he doesn't get to see him.
He realized how much he misses him and wonders if he misses him too. But he already knew that he does when he saw his phone lights up with his text message.
I never thought that I could miss someone this much…
It was his text message to a variety of people. He only could assume that he is that someone even if he is not. And if he is not, he'll only remind himself that he loves him and it is enough to quell the disappointment of not being missed by the man who could love a man like himself.
The next school year, he saw him walked down the hallway. He looks lonelier when he does not pretend.
He walks towards him and he suddenly smiled but his smile does not reach the corner of his eyes. He pauses from his step and ponders where that special smile went.
"Hi." His greeting was detach, his eyes colder.
"How are you? I miss you." He smiled that kind smile he was fond of.
"I'm quite fine. Hey, did you see the others? I haven't seen them around lately." He was looking around and he noticed the way he avoided saying I miss you too.
"No, I haven't. Where's your next class?" He asked, his gentle smile still intact.
"Speaking of classes, I have to go. Goodbye." He turns his back and raced away, his question left unanswered.
"Hey, Al!" He pauses and turns back, "I miss you too."
And then he's off again but his heart flutters when he saw that his grin reached his eyes this time around.
He touches his cheeks and felt that it's really hot. He's blushing.
He watches him grow.
His development made him more sophisticated and serious. But he still has fun like he's still a freshman.
Three years into college and he's still running around—busier than usual, faster than the previous years as if he does not have any time to spare for anyone but his dreams.
They were still all friends. They still go out once in awhile. They still have fun together—not as much back at their first year but enough that they all get to catch up with one another.
But through those years, something changed between them.
He still loves him and he could admit to himself that he does love him as much—if not more. And people are saying that they are lucky with one another since they're both smart and charming and kind. And they are assuming that they're already together—and he wishes too the way he had been wishing for so long.
Their friends joke that their kids will be too smart for their own good.
He dreams of them too the way he dreamt of their future together for quite some time.
But then, one day, he wakes up hurting too much.
"I think I should give up on you."
One morning, he walks up to him and he was crying. He got tired waiting for him to catch up. He turns his back at him and walks away. He saw him paused for a few second and he knew he was waiting for him to chase after him.
He did something he would always regret. He did nothing at all.
So, he walked away.
He got tired of guessing what his smiles meant. He got tired of trying to decode his words.
Does he love me? Does he love me not?
Those questions got tiring to hear too. And when he closes his eyes and he dreams of the romantic things he likes to do with him, he will shout in frustration since they were only his hopeless fantasy.
Does he love me? Does he love me not?
Alfred would like to say 'yes, I do' if only he waited longer.
Three months after his breakdown and he knew he was avoiding him like the plague.
He would often see him walk by their room or down the hallway or on the ground floor. He was always lingering near but when he saw him looking his way, he would look away and change direction.
His absence serves as a constant reminder of his heavy mistake.
So, every night, he lays in his bed thinking.
He thinks that he is a coward, a failure of a man—he thinks that he should have done something, anything so he would have stayed. But he didn't.
And in the darkness of his room, he closes his eyes and dream of what could have been if he was more honest with him.
He saw him laugh with that classmate of his again. It makes him green in envy with how close they seem to be.
And when he places his arms on his shoulder and he didn't remove it, he wants to stomp over to them and take back what should have been his.
But when he looks Arthur's way and he smiled the smile he gave everyone else, he denies him the right to.
Because he wasn't his anymore. He denied him the right to be called his.
God, what was he thinking?
He was miserable without him by his side but he does not tell another soul every time he cries. He swore that he won't bother him anymore. He swore to be happy for him, for the girl he loves whoever she might be.
He wrote his heart on paper planes, hoping that the wind would take all his pain away. He just wanted to be happy.
If only he loves him back the way he loves him because heavens know how much he does.
The paper planes were letters addressed to him.
The letters always started 'To the boy I love…'.
It landed on his weary heart and he let himself break down as if it was the only thing left to do. He should have been more honest with her and maybe she shouldn't be hurting this much because of him.
To the boy I love,
Do you love me? Do you love me not? Because God knows how much I do.
Love,
The boy who could have been yours
They all parted ways to chase their own dream.
He was the brightest of them all as he hugged all of his friends. He was loud with happiness and silent with success.
And God knows how much he still loves him.
"Alfred! Congratulations!" His smile was soft and gentle, his eyes were the same imaginative curious green ones. He hugs him tightly and before he could let go, he hugged him back.
He felt the hot tears streaming down his cheeks and he let out a shaky chuckle.
"You're crying." He whispered quietly, his hands fisted his graduation gown. "Are you this happy?"
He shook his head, "I'm sorry."
He always had a knack for guessing through his words—he didn't really give up. Nobody who really loves someone could give up on that someone they love.
"I love you." He softly said and he gave a quiet gasp at his words. "I love you."
And when he repeated, he knows he was not dreaming.
Do you love me? Do you love me not?
"I love you too, Arthur."
His silent 'you should have been more honest' broke both their hearts.
It was the last conversation he has with him.
October 23 and they were out having fun at the downtown club. It was Francis' birthday and he finally gave up trying to shoot the invitation down after all these years.
His birthday celebrations always involved alcohol and drinks. It might be time for a change, he thought.
He was drunk by his third shot of beer. And he was crying very hard. His drunkenness left his vulnerability takes over his heart and he broke. He broke with tears and shouts and slurs of Alfred's name.
He weeps and he cries and he let all his lies be known.
"I still love him so much..."
He woke up not remembering anything but the faces of his friends told him everything he needed to know.
October 23 and he was in his hometown. His friend had invited him for his birthday but he declined for the first time since he knows he won't see him there. He always declined his invitations, there would be no point in going anymore if he won't be able to see Arthur again.
So, he drank a bottle of beer and another and another. And by the time he had his fourth, he was far drunk to care about anyone seeing him mumbling about someone who should have been his.
They were twenty-five and a half when they had met again. The years in between were a long gap of silence, they have no communication whatsoever. It left them both with an ache that only they could understand.
They met at a teachers' convention held at their old alma mater.
He likes to think that it was fate or it was coincidence or destiny or life but whatever it is, he is thankful that it happened.
He was dress in his favorite color—a light blue tie for his crisp black office suit. He was talking with other teachers of different age. And he was still lovely—if not even more so.
He cleared his throat, put down the glass of water, and slowly stood up. He did not contemplate if he was going to approach him because he had been waiting for years to finally do.
"Arthur." His voice was strained, his eyes glossy with his nervousness, his hands were shaking and so is his heart. He almost laughed at his situation—he used to be like this when he's around, especially when he had confessed.
But there he stood firm and proper as if no one could shake him from his stand.
"Al..fred?" His gaze was piercing and sharp but they were still the same curious imaginative green orbs that he helplessly adored. His voice was still the same, still sweet and quietly loud with traces of sarcasm he loves to use.
"How are you?" He smiled the smile he always reserves for him—kind and charming and only for him.
"Oh my God! It really is you! I am fine! I haven't heard from you since graduation!" But they both knew that he had cut any form of communication from him. He had this notion that if he did not then he would keep on hurting so much that he'll never be able to forgive that blond boy with blue eyes.
His absence from his life made him think clearly and reasonably—it lessens the ache to a degree that when his mind brings him up—and everyone knows how much he thinks of him—he would only felt a little quiver but nothing that he couldn't handle.
He closes the distance and hugged him in front of all the spectators. He tenses before slowly hugging him back.
"God, how I miss you so much, Arthur." He says.
His eyes soften considerably; the walls he built were slowly taken down by the warmth of his embrace.
"I miss you too, Alfred, I miss you too."
He's back in his life again and it felt so, so right that he never wanted to let him go.
Slow and steady. Slow and steady. Slow and steady.
He remembered thinking something like that back in his college days. But he was too slow that he wasn't able to catch up to the busiest man he had ever met. He was too slow that he had once lost him.
Slow and steady. Slow and steady.
He greeted him every day and every night. There are days when they get together. There are days when they're really busy.
Sometimes, they invite all their friends and it felt like those good old days again.
"So, you're finally together." Elizaveta teases and he would shake his head at her antics.
"Not yet." He would reply and he would look directly in his eyes as he says those words hoping that his 'not yet' would be tomorrow or the next day or even the next Saturday. Because he likes to think that they ought to really be together since the world is getting tired watching them dance around each other.
"Hmmm, maybe this time around, you two will be more honest with one another now." Matthew chuckled. And all of their friends did too because they knew how stupid the two have been.
Francis looked at him with a serious set of eyes when Arthur went inside his house, "Alfred, I hope you would stop hurting Arthur. That fool never did stop loving you, I hope you know that."
"He…" He looked at Kiku who is looking up the night sky with cloudy eyes, "He had been crying the moment he had loved you. Back in our college years, he often lied about his swollen eyes but we always knew that you are the reason behind it."
"And it's funny how he never blamed you for his tears, aru. He only blamed himself for crying over a man that isn't his to begin with." Yao took a sip of his alcohol and to him it was not really funny seeing his oldest friend cry.
"I'm sorry." He said.
"Well, you should be." Gilbert put in his penny in the conversation.
He wondered what happened after graduation with all of them. He wondered what happened to Arthur to make them this protective of him. He wondered so many things that it makes his head hurt.
"I'm sorry."
Slow and steady but they're finally getting somewhere.
His cheeks were red as he brought him a dozen roses for Valentines and his favorite kind of chocolate. It is a secret of his that had finally come true. He never thought that this kind of daydream back in college would ever become a reality.
"What had you eaten today?" He grinned with his ever slight sarcastic tone.
"I had eaten the food you made which by the way is only half-cooked." He never learn how to properly cook and he find it cute when he struggles cutting the onion into tiny pieces.
He pouted before accepting his gift.
His cheeks went red too when he invited him inside his house and gave him his gift—a box of vanilla flavored chocolates and a poem. He never changes with his little gifts, he notices.
Their Valentines were spent on his couch. They both held a cup of chocolate drink as they shared their chocolates with each other and watched old romance movies that had Arthur crying.
"It's cliché." He teased him about the movie.
"Because it's what the people are attracted to. Cliché and fantasy." He countered as he wiped his eyes. His hands paused from what they're doing when he stopped them.
His fingers were nimble and light as he traces his tearstained face. He gently dabbed his tears away as he then places his forehead on his.
"I'm sorry." His eyes were honest and he saw the same beautiful hue of his eyes that he had always, always love.
He closes his eyes and hummed. The silence of the room covered by the music of the movie eases his whole being. He took his hand and gently nuzzled it.
"It's okay."
And they both knew that they meant something deeper than this instance.
They were both twenty-seven when they announced that they are finally together.
Their friends shook their heads at them and laughed. They told them that they should be. They told them that they ought to stop making them witness a cliffhanger in their story. They teased Arthur for not being punctual with his romance when he had always hated tardiness.
Alfred laughed at the redness of his cheeks. He knew that his cheeks are also red—both in happiness and relief.
"Shut up." He puffed his cheeks at Francis' teasing but then his lips broke into a grin and he knew that he's as happy as he is.
Ten years, he thought, they were finally together after ten years of dancing around with each other.
"When will the two of you be married?" Gilbert commented.
"They had only gotten together and you're talking about marriage already?" Yao shook his head. Gilbert shrugs.
They both looked at each other and grinned, "Why not now?"
One Saturday morning, he woke up besides the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
They were old now. His tresses were gray and so were his. Their faces show sign of age. Their voices are shaky and strained. Their hands were wrinkly.
But they still held hands every day and every night as if years never mattered to them as long as they are together. They still walked down the park together—sometimes they bring their grandchildren along with them. They both still watched old romance movies and they still make Arthur cry.
At seventy-three, they're still so much in love with each other.
"Good morning, beautiful." He chuckled as he opens his ever curious imaginative green eyes.
"Good morning." His smile is still bright. His blue eyes still shine. And when he reaches for his hands and he squeezes back, he knew that all the things that they both went through were worth it.
He wrote his heart away on paper planes hoping that the world could read all his pain and happiness to their hearts' content. He always wrote on them every night without a fail and every morning, he would send them flying away.
Those paper planes were letters addressed to only one man.
The letters always started 'To the boy I love…'
One of the millions paper planes always landed on his weary heart. One letter made his heart flutter in delight and in priceless joy that no one could offer but the man who wrote them.
The letter says one day to him,
To the boy I love,
Come down stair, boy, our daughter is getting married today.
Love,
The boy you love
P.S. Bring your jacket, the weather is cold today. And, honey, I love you.
…Fin…
So, yeah... I wrote this two months ago. Hope you like it! Please leave a review!
speadee- I'm sorry. It was just all typos for the pronouns. :3 I'm sorry for confusing you but thank you for pointing them out. Umm, Alfred and Arthur adopted, yes. The confusion lies with the horizontal lines that had suddenly disappeared. I'm sorry about that.