This is my first one-shot ever, and I don't usually do these, but since its Valentine's Day and since I wrote this a month in advance, I decided to put it up. Be warned that this is a little bit of a downer, but it has some sweet spots in it too ;)

This is inspired by Kim Sung Kyu's song, 60Seconds. It really motivated me to write something based on it, but a multi-chapter story seemed too long for sixty seconds.

You guys should watch the MV, I kind of wrote a lot of what happened in it, but hey, it's not plagiarising … is it? Well, it's all in my writing so I think I'm good. Anyway, love 'n' read on!

60 Seconds

The rain had finally stopped. He lifts the black umbrella over his head and the grey autumn clouds remain, but the shower had definitely passed. The breeze picks up and he can catch a whiff of the rain in it. It calms his distraught mind. He closes the umbrella and twists the handle until the last drops of water fall off. He then continues on his way.

As he walks down this cobblestone street he ignores all the metallic floating hearts and the smell of chocolate floating through the crisp afternoon air. They annoy him to a degree he can't try to comprehend. He instead tries to concentrate on the leaves crunching beneath his feet of the colours of browns, reds and yellows. They were like him; dead and trampled on. A perfect metaphor, he would say, if he didn't feel like crap.

There wasn't any particular reason why he decided to look up at that moment, he just did and saw her. Maybe it was one of those love at first sight experiences, but he taught himself not to trust those instincts earlier in the day, when he finally figured out that was a load of-

She walks out of that café he had passed a hundred other times before but never went in and stretches her arms. His rational train of thought went blank. Perhaps it was on purpose just so he could just forget, perhaps not. Either way, he was enjoying the sight. A joyful smile graces her face and her eyes … her eyes sparkled.

That's when his 60 seconds began.

Everything froze in place, or at least to him it did. Couples walking hand in hand were gazing at each other with unwavering stares of love. A dog halts in mid-air as its owner throws it a piece of white chocolate. And her, she was like a statue of an angel. And he wasn't exaggerating. There was this single ray of light shining on her and he didn't complain about where it came from. That added to the effect of her toy angel wings and white lace dress made her look - no matter how cheesy he knows it sounds - heavenly. There was something missing in this picture though, something he can't quite put his finger on.

She stood there, staring at the sky if it were clear and blue. He draws closer to her, mesmerised by that wholesome look on her face; the one that made his heart skip a beat. His hand trails over to the left side of his chest to make sure he wasn't dreaming. A heart skipping a beat, that's ridiculous. If he wasn't so entranced he would think he had heartburn or something. Another moment passes and he still can't stop looking at her. The heart problem will have to wait till later.

A scooter skids by him, sprinkling his face with rainwater from the ditch, and he wakes up. He scowls slightly as the rider turns a corner and pushes his hair out of the way only to let it fall on his face again. People these days can be so inconsiderate. Then again, he probably wasn't all lollipops and sunshine to the people who bumped into him today.

The girl, taking one last breath of fresh air, retreats back into the shop where her smile remained for all inside to see. He watches her put on a headband that was hidden in her hand. The fluffy white ring on top of her head bobs with every step she takes. So that's what was missing.

He raises a hand out of instinct, his lips part to say something, but no words leave his mouth. What did he want to say anyway? It's not like he wants to confess anything to her, and it's not like he wanted to ask her out. And requesting if he could just stare at her all day would seem a little police call worthy to him. If anything, he just wanted someone to talk to. But now he wanted to talk to a stranger … He must be really messed up.

He wanted to see her again though. That's all he knew in that minute, and that's all he decided. He steps up the porch and enters the café. It's a homely looking place with a decorum that was fitting for the day. Hearts and streamers were placed in every other corner. He now understands that the girl was dressed up as Cupid – not a misleading angel – by noting all the other waitresses roaming around in the same costume, only some sported a bow and heart tipped arrow. He wonders why she was the only one that wore a halo.

He takes a seat unannounced at a table for two, ignoring the single red rose in the small vase. Right now, he hates that flower. He won't hate it forever though; he just can't stand to look at it right now. It was his favourite after all, so the feeling will pass soon enough. Don't get him wrong, liking that flower doesn't make him any more unmanly than it may sound. He just had a soft spot for it, that's all. Instead of dwelling on the rose he watches her behind the counter washing a teacup. Her hands were covered in soap bubbles.

She pauses to push a stray hair out of her face, only to leave a trail of suds on her forehead. She soon realises this when a small bead of water trails down her temple to brush the corner of her eye. She winces slightly and wipes it off with one of the serviettes on the stack by the coffee machine. She thinks of the many times she had done this and wonders why she could never remember not to. Maybe it's the invigorating scent of the lemon detergent. They smelt like her backyard at home. Her parents have a lemon tree mainly just for decoration. At times she would pick one just for the fun of it. Where it ended up at the end of the day she didn't know. But she would always remember the scent of lemons on her fingertips when she went back inside.

The boy tilts his head and wonders why she picked up the soap bottle to sniff the lid. He doesn't think much of it though when she smiles with her eyes looking down ever so dreamily. She must be thinking of something fondly. He doesn't know what, but thinks it must be something silly if it has anything to do with soap. But being in such a heartfelt environment surrounded by instruments of the cook, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have her in his life.

He laughs as he watches her cut the vegetables in an uneven fashion. She tries her best to do better. He can tell by the expression on her face; her determined one. Her eyes still have that sparkle in them, only it seemed to be ignited by a sense purpose. She wants to impress him, he thinks. She actually just wants to try cooking for once, but she doesn't tell him that and lets him think what he wants; not like she has a choice though.

After giving her enough time to realise she just wasn't cut out for cooking, but eating, he takes the knife and begins slicing the carrot up himself. He hardly ever cooks, but he was good at it, just like everything else. She pouts, but it was a happy pout. Perhaps she felt relieved and maybe a bit irritated, but she liked having someone to depend on, but not so much she wasn't considered independent anymore. She just leans on the counter watching him at work. She would never tell him this, but a guy cooking to her was the sweetest thing ever.

Three slices later he looks up and raises both his brows with a hint of a grin on his face. He is telling her this is how it's supposed to be done. He always wanted to prove himself right, even if he was wrong. She learnt that the hard way. She juts out her bottom lip, a soft glare emanating from her eyes. To show him she didn't care, she starts nibbling on one of the uneven bits of carrot she had cut. That small gesture was enough to say that he won the silent debate ... again.

This is the first time they've cooked dinner together. And in the end when he left her to stir the pasta, it all ended up burnt from the time he left to turn on the stereo in the living room of their apartment, which incidentally was next to the kitchen. He knows it's not humanly possible to overcook food this fast, but he doesn't question her when she gives him that nervous look; the one where her eyes are closed and her right hand is rubbing the back of her neck. That stuttering laugh of hers just makes him sigh and he lets it go.

In the end he taught her how to cook instant noodles - without using the stove. She knows how to do this though, but when she tells him he doesn't believe her. Understandable considering the pasta incident, but she still feels offended. They wait two minutes until the boiling hot water from the kettle softens up the noodles. He lifts up the plate covering the bowl while she pours in the chicken powder and stirs. She licks the tasty dust that managed to get on her off her fingers as she makes a ducky face at him. He chuckles. Their little spat is soon forgotten.

Using a fork and spoon to eat as she incapable of using chopsticks, she gathered a few strands and twirls them into a bunch to lie on the spoon. She opens her mouth, but looks at him and waits. Again he raises a brow. Nevertheless amused by her immature antics he dropped open his jaw to let her feed him. Did this look childish? Hands down yes, but he likes it.

In turn he did the same just because he enjoyed tugging the spoon away at the last second. She however, pouts at him instead of getting angry, and when she finally gets to eat, starts to giggle as she chews, causing some soup to dribble down the corner of her lips. He wipes the trickle away with his thumb. She still continues to laugh as she covers her mouth.

A waitress, not her, comes up to him with a menu. He breaks his stare and misses the glance she passes him to order without looking at it. All cafés are the same in his opinion. They serve the same beverages, with the occasional signature drink, and that to him was meaningless as he always ordered the same thing. Turning back, he now watches her place a glass cup on a hook above her head. It chimes as it hits a neighbouring cup.

A fellow co-worker hands her a slip of paper and she clips it up along with all the other drink orders she had to make. A heart was scribbled by the waitress, next to her cursive handwriting of the customer's name she somehow managed to get. She looks at the apron clad Cupid and she winks before disappearing to the front of the store to greet a new customer.

The girl laughs at her friend as she takes a teacup and plate on top of the coffee machine and sets it on the bench. She was always on the lookout for a possible date, something this sparkly eyed girl could not understand when she was beautiful enough to get courted without even trying.

The boy back at the table ponders why her smile suddenly broke into a giggle as she takes frequent glances at the list of orders above her. He wonders what her laugh would sound like up close. Would it be high pitched and squeaky, deep and alluring? He preferred the soft natural kind. Actually up until this morning he didn't mind whichever. Now he preferred only one.

He gazes at her for a long while before having the courage to look down at his entwined hands. He concentrates on the right more than the left because the other hand laid a burden he wishes to remove. But just because he knows he has to do it doesn't mean he can. He was more logical than this, he would never to have thought he'd get this emotional over time, and it hadn't been that long either. The human mind is a complicated thing; that he knows. But the human heart was a whole other thing, he realises.

He stares for so long he didn't realise the girl with the sparkling eyes was right in front of him, holding a black tray that bore his drink. Her halo had moulted a light trail of feathers behind her. Some still hover in the air. She sets it down and smiles at him even though he doesn't smile back, admiring the silver band on his ring finger. She walks back and passes a playful disapproving look to her friend; the one who drew the heart on his order. The waitress failed to see that the customer was already taken. Her friend swings her arm in an aw-shucks motion, quickly taking the boy off her list of possible boyfriends in her head, and on the back of her notepad.

Holding the hot cup in his hands he watches the steam drift up only to fade away once it reaches him at eye level. He knows she saw the ring, and he knows she mistook him for being in a relationship. Did she not realise he was sitting alone in a café full of couples? Maybe she was that oblivious, he figures to make himself feel better.

He still holds the cup even though the ceramic mug is burning his skin. He can't really feel it though. He was too deep in thought. Now he wonders what it would be like if she was officially his. Because then, maybe, the ring wouldn't feel so heavy on him.

They each take a sip of their lattes. Hers was mixed with extra, extra milk chocolate while his tasted like hazelnuts. She doesn't really care for coffee, but if anything involved chocolate she will try at least once. He tells her to grow up and try normal coffee, but her rebuttal had him speechless for once. Her point didn't really bode well for his character, but it worked well on her, he had to admit. You'll have more fun if you act like a kid. He doesn't say it, but he does have more fun when he's with her. She knows this and keeps quiet until she can get him to declare it by himself. She wants to keep score in their relationship. He doesn't, but only because he knows he's winning.

He taps the fingers of his left hand incessantly on the table. She takes another sip of her latte, thinking he was just bored now that he had finished his drink already. She didn't really care though, at least not until she finished hers. He has been doing this for quite a while now, waiting for her to take notice. She was a little slow seeing the ring until she points and asks what it was.

Yes, she knew it was a ring, she just said it out of instinct. And who wouldn't? It may have been obvious, but she had a habit of pointing out the apparent things in life. It wasn't on purpose, it was just her personality. He discovered she wasn't playing around after various moments in their time together; times that he just had to stand back and look at her to see if she was kidding or not; all of those times she wasn't. That made him realise how innocent she really was.

He smiles and pushes his cup away, exchanging it for her hands. They were both soft, like flesh the of a newborn. He can't help it if he caresses her knuckles unconsciously, it just happens. He takes something out from his pocket and slips it on her ring finger. It's cool and smooth against her skin. The sensation makes her shiver a little, but in a good way.

He playfully looks at the band as if he was observing it and smiles. He thinks silver looks good on her. She hardly ever wore jewellery though, which is a pity considering when they first started going out he began showering her in bracelets and earrings and such. After their fifth date he realised she was more content with the cheap stuffed animal he won her at the carnival than any of the accessories he had given her. Even now the toy bunny sits by her bed. Sometimes she tries to brush off the fact she doesn't cuddle with it at night, even though he knows she does. What he doesn't know is that she does it only because she can smell his cologne on its fur.

She thinks it looks good too, and for once decides this is the one piece of jewellery she'll wear on a regular basis. She holds out a fist by his hand and glances back and forth at the rings. They were identical, only hers was a little more feminine. She can't help but giggle. To think he would give her a couples ring.

He twists and twists the ring until it comes off his finger. He has to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. The shiny silver metal has been dulled over time. Small scratches lined the back while the front remained clean and unscathed.

He wonders how painful it would be if she gave the ring back. Would he even take it back? Could he? Or would he slap it out of her hand like he did once before? Maybe it seemed suitable at the time, but now he realises it was foolish. Again, he tries to figure out his emotions. He was angry, but sad, or more specifically, heartbroken…

He didn't know what happened; he didn't know why he was so mad. He just raked his hands through his hair as she faces his back to him. Half of the apartment was bare of a few things. The budding sunflower plant by the windowsill is gone, leaving a white ring in its place, undamaged by the sun. The one fuzzy red pillow that did not go with all the other plain ones on the couch was gone too. She doesn't look him in the eye when she turns. She fears that she would breakdown in front of him and she didn't want that. Not when she decided to do this.

He stares heatedly at the ring as she opens up his hand and places it in his palm. Her hands feel dry, but at the same time moist. He knows he made her cry when she locked herself up in the bathroom, and the tears on her stained hands were still damp because she had been gripping them into fists. She was that stubborn not to let him see her cry. The silver is still warm, but what she is doing is ice cold.

He looks up and the sparkle in her eyes wasn't there anymore. They were blank and glazed. He had never seen her look at him like that before. He wanted to tell her, no, he wanted to yell at her not to look at him like that! It made him angrier. But if he was so angry why did his chest feel so empty? He knows yelling wouldn't help. He knows. But he just wanted to shout and scream and destroy anything and everything around him … everything except her.

He doesn't understand why he wants to hold and push her away at the same time. He just can't think clearly. Then again, he never thinks clearly when she's around. She never had a serious thought in her mind, and that made him … jealous. He's jealous of the fact she can act as happy as she wants and he can't because … because … he doesn't know how…

And that's what's keeping him from telling her to stay. He was filled with so much envy and can't see anything else but green. He doesn't stop her when she walks away and leaves the key behind on the kitchen counter. He doesn't stop her when she gathers the last of her things and heads for the door. He doesn't stop her when she whispers an apology under her shaky breath.

He just doesn't…

The boy places the ring on the table and gets up, leaving his drink cooling and untouched. He made the decision to leave it behind. It was anchoring him down, and it's not like it meant anything to him anymore. It did, once before, but now it would be something holding him back if he kept it. But honestly, he wanted to keep at least one piece of his heart. He knew that he shouldn't though, and his judgement knew better. He also decides to trust himself from now on. He wasn't going to let his mind or heart cloud his intuition anymore.

As he leaves, the sparkly eyed girl spots the band sitting by its lonesome and picks it up. It's plain and simple, something she might have bought for her own boyfriend if she had one. She doesn't think much about it though as she catches up with the customer and taps his shoulder. He turns to see her holding it out to him; his burden.

"You forgot this, sir," she says politely. He never would've imagined that her voice sounded this kind and sweet. It matched her smile. He thinks that her laugh might sound like what he imagined it to be, too. It was a shame he wouldn't get a chance to hear it. He might not be able to laugh for himself for a while, so he thinks it would be better if he didn't hear anyone else's either. He just wants to be alone for now.

The boy looks down into her hand and bites his lip again. This time he can taste blood. It's like his burden is chasing him, like he can't get away from it. He now remembers that he was the one who had the choice to take it back or not. If he did take it then he might give into weakness and go running back, if he didn't … well, he won't know if he doesn't do it once, right?

"Keep it … please…" he says with a stuttering breath. He can only just look into her eyes, but he can't handle that sparkle; the one slowly vanishing from watching him break right in front of her. "Because I don't think I can…"

For a moment he thinks he would see her again. On a day like this when she would be out to stretch, only to be disappointed when the rain would begin to fall. He would hold out an umbrella and wait for her to notice. He hopes that when she smiles she would remember him; the boy who gave her the silver ring.

The girl hums in confusion, and perhaps in a bit of sympathy. She didn't know why she felt sad at that moment, she just did. She glances down at the ring and didn't feel inclined to keep it; in fact she was going to press on until he took it back. But what stumped her was when that translucent tear trailed down his cheek.

She was stunned. No one has ever cried in front of her before, and if they had she couldn't remember. At that moment, she felt she was holding glass; a fragile piece of glass as she watches the tear cascade down his face. Her hand was shaking and she was afraid she was about to break something important to him. Even then she still wanted to give it back. But as he walks away her feet remained ever planted to the ground. All she could do watch him leave.

The ring was now clasped tightly in her hand. She swallows a breath and waits until he left the shop. She suddenly felt detached. Like someone she loved was torn away from her, or at least somebody she cared for. She felt like her heart was broken. She felt like something broke her.

That's when her 60 seconds began.

For one minute, she fell in love with a stranger. It shook her. She saw the happy moments, the sad moments, and the moment he disappeared forever. But then again, wasn't that all he was, a stranger? She didn't know him. All she knew about him his was his order; coffee, black. She can't even recall his name in that scribbly writing of her friends. He was just another customer in her café, another blank face she wouldn't remember the next day, another heartbroken soul on this loving and painful holiday.

She held the ring close to her heart and tries to figure out why though.

Why was she crying, too?

Have you ever just looked at a person and saw a life with them right before your eyes? You feel that love is so pure, so untainted because it was never true. But this feeling, this feeling deep in your heart, stays with you. You feel loved.

60 seconds. That's all it takes fall in and out of love; a beautiful, dreamful love.

Happy Valentine's Day, and may you find love someday :)

XOXO AsianBunny