I have no idea where this came from. O_O But here it is anyway. XD Enjoy!


"You say my name and you look at my face. But it's not me you're seeing."

The words are a blow. They slam into his heart with a force of a runaway train, sink into his stomach, and coil tight with dread and doubt. His mind is swept blank while words battle in his throat for supremacy.


That's not true.


More than the words, he sees Mi Nam. He sees those familiar brown eyes – those depths that have all of a sudden become unreadable. He sees the curve of his cheek, the twist of his lips into that rueful smirk. He sees the casual pose against the door frame of his room and the tense line of shoulders.

He sees and he remembers.

He remembers a girl he loved who didn't love him back. And it hurts, like poking onto a wound that's scarred and still healing. He remembers the smiles and the laughs. He remembers the feeling of needing to protect. He remembers the feel of her hair beneath his palm and his lips on the top of her head. He remembers her voice. The gentle and soft voice that once pushed turns into a tsunami that sweeps people away with its beauty and depth.

And then he remembers some more.

He remembers his once hateful smirk, the arrogant swagger, and the unnecessary flourish of his hands upon the keyboard. He remembers the aversion to tea and fondness for sweets. He remembers the arguments over song arrangements and the popularity competitions. He remembers the first meal together as a band and the ensuing hospital visit due to allergies the band never knew Mi Nam had.

He remembers the first song they write together, heads bent over scatted music sheets and chicken wings.

He remembers their first concert and how his eyes land on him first and the rush of seeing that he was looking right back. He remembers the first smile directed at him then: warm and amused. He remembers how it seems like a secret because Mi Nam never smiled.

He remembers thinking that he looked nothing like his sister.

He remembers the taste of his lips during their first kiss and the warm unyielding press of his body. He remembers the gentle press of hands against his chest and the secret smile thereafter.

He remembers how he whispers his name and looks into his eyes.

He remembers everything and he feels sick.

The feeling burns in his heart. He licks his lips and tries to speak. It tastes like anguish and shame with the serrated edge of desperation.

He's put his heart on the line so many times for that face.

And maybe— maybe that's why this is happening.

Because he's taken risks and gotten his heart broken again and again for her.

Not for him.

And this time— this time—

He opens his eyes, not realizing they'd closed. He looks at the person he loves and sees.

And then, finally, he speaks.