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dropsofletters · 5 years

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with a kiss, you’ll know

title: with a kiss, you’ll know pairing: lee taeyong/reader genre: writer!au/fan!au summary: taeyong likes to hide in the corner of the library, picking up his favorite romance novels and gushing about it in the silence of his privacy. however, there is this one writer that touches his heart in the most excellent of ways, and somehow, he feels like he is connected to this person. the problem? the author’s anonymity. type: fluff/angst

Once, she had a love so brief, it felt timeless.

Although, said person is as unknown as the planets in another galaxy, a representation of love just like Thais once was, and the main character of a story that is real life is none other than the man that sits at the very corner of the local library by the center of the city. Instead of sitting by the chairs and tables empty and ready to be stacked by books, like any other person would, he decides to take a spot near the romance section of the library. His knees are pressed against his chest, most of the time, cladded in jeans that show just how long his legs are. He wears thrifted clothing, like jackets that would be worn by people in the past but fashion always comes back. What is the most outstanding about him, however, is not the strange way he blushes as he walks towards the romance book section, but it is the fact that his reactions are priceless, probably the reason why writers would keep doing their jobs in the first place. He coos when a scene is adorable enough to warm his heart, already sensible although not shown often. His smile appears when he reads something funny, and he has gotten shushed by the librarian time and time again, although his wide eyes are enough to have him forgiven. Speaking of his eyes, they get teary sometimes when a scene is too profound, too bad to be real, so sad that it irks him that the book is so good.

Lee Taeyong enjoys literature, but he wasn’t always a book-freak. When he was younger, back in high school, he would have preferred a videogame over a book, but as he moved to his own place and bought decorations, he opted that a shelf full with color-coordinated books would be a great idea. He started learning that he loved reading, then, but he is too scared of horror books, and action books he is pickier about. What he has realized, however, is that he adores a good romance book. Not the type that has the cliché characters of a woman that needs a man to survive, and a man that needs a pure woman to change his outstanding ways of being a complete asshole. The books he reads, sometimes good and other times bad, have to indulge him in a storyline that makes him want to read more. Personally, he loves psychological thrillers mixed with romance, and there has been a few times that he has read erotica. Just for the sake of knowing what exactly it is about.

It only so happened that, as he was reading, a person passed by and looked at the title of the book—and of course, they just had to know what that book was about. A curious glance that looked more like awkwardness brought Taeyong to the mindset of never reading erotica again. Not that most authors do it well, anyways.

His friends do not know that the sweetheart that their friends is, Taeyong in this case, is a romance-book lover, but he goes as far as buying some of those books simply because he wants to read them again. He likes to believe that he is not one to seek for love, but the feeling that reading works about it leaves him is more of an obsession to him. Love is good in those books, most of the time, or at least it gives you a lesson. Seeing different points of view about a concept that is so widely known suddenly seems fitting—oddly enough, Taeyong thinks that every book shows just how exactly the authors perceive love, no matter how many romance novels they could, can and will have published.

Some like to say love is the opposite of never, the companion of heartbreak or even going as far as saying that love is holding a person you love by their hand but never telling them how you truly feel. Taeyong has read so much that he doesn’t have a concept of love anymore—he’s impatient, that he knows, and a little bit jumpy. Cinema dates are not his thing, much less if a horror movie is playing in front of him, and he has a love affair with dinner dates in which he actually cooks dinner. With being impatient, comes Taeyong saying those three damned words before he should, or sometimes his mind doesn’t connect with the person he is dating.

Psychologically speaking, Taeyong reads romance novels because he is physically unable of projecting romance in a way that is not rushed. He lives in his teenage years where someone can mean his whole entire world. He gives entitlement to people who can take it to break his heart altogether, or simply to put it together.

This time around, Taeyong is sitting on the floor, a bag filled with hard candy on one side and strawberry milk by his other. One of his legs rests underneath his adjacent thigh, fingers dancing across his newest romance novel. The only problem is that this is not the first book he reads by this author; whose name is nothing more than a mere nickname—one that she has given to herself for some reason. Jupiter, like the planet, one that is ruled by intelligence and logic, but love is considered the opposite of that. While it is not the most perfect choice for a pen name, it definitely is not what has made her so famous and so loved inside his heart. The way of her words, not cliché at all, have captured his heart in webs of emotions he can never seem to get out of.

He is tranced by the way her words create kaleidoscopes of thoughts inside his head. She says enough, ramblings of words until the ending hits him as a surprise. Her analogies are satin, elegant and nice to the eye, but even more perfect with the mere touch. Her plots are oceans that show everything, but nothing at all—you’ll never know what’s the depth behind it, but you know that once you dive in a story, you won’t come back up until it’s finished. Taeyong munches on candy as he reads her first book, for his chronological order of reading her titles goes from newest to oldest, and he is lost, completely forgetting that there is life outside of that library.

The buzzing streets, the screamed words, the smell of delicious pastries or even a nice looking pair of legs is not enough to take Taeyong away from his books, much less Jupiter’s.

Part of his love for romance comes from how boring his life is outside of the library. Taeyong is a call center representative, with a voice made to be heard, but no one really asks about him. He lives his life creating love for others, in the form of moon cakes for his friends, or a song for his mother when Mother’s Day arrives. He falls in love too easily, and people enjoy his presence for the mere existence of his nice looking face, but very rarely does someone think:

I’ll love the good, and bad, side of Lee Taeyong. The insecure side, that bites down on his nails and expects acceptance from people. That one side of him that jumps up and down when he gets a compliment, but bathes on pouts when he spends a Sunday afternoon alone.

His body jumps when he hears the sound of someone’s shoes hitting the woodened floor harshly, cradling the romance novel to his chest as if it is his child. Taeyong looks with worried eyes, sparkly and big, to the person that almost fell to his knees, cursing under a soft breath about how awkward it is to make noise at a library. He is met by the sight of a teenager, tall and with plump lips, wearing his school’s uniform and holding what seems to be a girl’s purse. Someone calls his name, then, with a bubbly tone: “Jisung, did you find the book I asked for?”

Somewhere along the library, someone shushes her and Jisung widens his eyes before stuttering a small: “Y-Yes! Coming.” Once again, another hush hits his ears and this guy, clearly around his last year of school, flinches at the sound. He notices someone else is there, and Taeyong is equally as embarrassed as the young man, just for different reasons. Jisung is worried about the tint of his cheeks, the development of his crush, and the fact that he almost fell on his nose. Taeyong, on the other hand, is holding Jupiter’s first novel, clearly about love, and while he adores a good book—he doesn’t normally like to show that he surrounds himself in stacks of romance novels, hard candy, and sometimes any drink that keeps his sugar-high intact. “Uh, excuse me…” The guy, whose name is apparently Jisung, says. “Is this the textbook section? Preferably the geography section…?”

Taeyong doesn’t find the words in his throat, but he whispers. “I…don’t work here.” It’s audible enough for the two and then, he moves the book in his right hand a little bit to catch Jisung’s attention. “This is the romance book section.”

Jisung frowns. “Oh.”

Always one to help, however, Taeyong points to his left. “The section you’re looking for is right over there. Two bookshelves to the left.”

“Your left or my left?”

“Everyone’s left.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

And when the high school guy leaves, Taeyong releases a big breath. One day, he will be confident enough to show his love for romance movies, but until then…he will continue sucking on hard candy and reading his favorite author’s books. Over and over again.

❤️

Taeyong has had a good set of bad days in his lifetime. Some worse than others, some equally as bad, all terrible in their own ways.

Because there are enough dreams about his teeth falling off to remind him that he is pretty much the human equivalent of one of those stress balls people buy to fight anxiety. He’s soft hearted, used by people to relieve whatever they have inside them, but no one ever dares to question why Taeyong is so strong for everyone, so condescending, as if he wants the world to be alright and doesn’t mind how he really is. Sometimes, the world he creates comes crumbling down at his feet and all he can do is bite on his bottom lip so the tears don’t spill from his eyes. He sits down on his bed, hopes for a miracle, wishes that his mind is suddenly wrong about the idea of pessimism and that the next day becomes the brightest moment of his existence.

Yet, life is a set of good and bad, wrong and correct, like how a flower blooms to die eventually for the lack of water, and water could be evaporated from the earth years from now thanks to climate change, which is something that continues to develop thanks to the ignorance of human beings. Sometimes, he gets some good news—and then everything is crashed down with the reality that there only needs to exist one person to ruin someone’s day. Like how the world could still end thanks to a single person that continues to throw plastic bottles to the ground.

Taeyong’s life is full of plastic bottles. No, it’s a creator of oil refineries. He only brings more stress upon himself.

Half of his hair is sticking up to different places, his head is peacefully resting against the fluffiness of his pillows and the smell of a fresh bath bomb clings to his body. Be forgotten his skin routine that night, for he is too lost on his reading app to even care. It’s an application that he finds himself entering often whenever he needs to find a good new book, create a set of to-read list and buy some of the cheapest deals in books. The importance of this is that sometimes, and only sometimes, the authors make some type of forum to answer questions that are sent their ways—and Taeyong doesn’t pay much attention to that, until a notification comes from one of the profiles he visits often. Jupiter is having a Q&A session.

The new release of her book is coming up, and Taeyong is one of those people who has pre-ordered the beautifulness that are her words, but the idea of talking to the author that has been the only person that has accompanied him through his stress seems fitting. He wants to proclaim how thankful he is, how his bed seems fuller with her words, how his dreams are no longer ruled by demons but filled with the idea of happy endings—even when they are not expected, or when they are not really happy, but they are fitting and necessary. Her words are the blanket he had as a child, the kisses his mother gave him, the meals he ate throughout his life, that one first trip he had to Jeju.

And he’s having a bad day. Days like those are the equivalent of irrational decisions made from a mindset that speaks the idiom of ‘I’ll regret it if I don’t do this’.

He thinks of the most complex question that he has been thinking about. Her second book, to be exact, where the main narrator remained unknown but at the end of the book everyone could guess who it was. People would have different guesses, but instead of pointing out whom did he think was the protagonist that no one knew, he spoke about how intelligent it was of her to add a narration like that. He added paragraph after paragraph of how delicious her honey-like sentences were, how her analogies and the small details led someone to believe that each character was more than they were, or less that they showed. Taeyong types on his phone quickly, loving the way he remembers the most profound of parts in the book, and by the time he sends it, he thinks Jupiter must have stopped answering questions, but he got to say how thankful he was to her.

That’s enough for a moment.

Until Taeyong is stuffing his mouth with his favorite package of chocolate cookies, dipped in Nutella, hail his appetite of a four years old boy. His phone buzzes by his side, though the first thought that blinks inside his head is the fact that one of his friends must have texted him—or his big sister, probably asking how he’s doing. Out of curiosity, he takes his phone in his hands and pops his fingers inside his mouth before he smears the Nutella and chocolate over his screen. Once unlocked, he’s welcomed by the sight of Jupiter having responded to his question (long paragraph talking about how big of a fan he is, really) and he doesn’t know if his heart jumps, or his sternum ends up poking a whole on his chest or if feelings are just ephemeral and his nervous system is sending waves of happiness to his bursting smile.

“I have gotten a hundred comments, never one like yours.” She starts, and Taeyong sits back on his bed with utmost happiness. Something along the ways of life changes, twists, turns, creates a new environment as if a year had passed by in a mere second. Taeyong thinks that the power of words is bigger than any theory of the Big Bang could or will ever be. How many friendships haven’t been destroyed by words? Just like that, there are words that mend people, bring their pieces back together after a long day, and being that for the person that has done just that for him makes him feel special, in a way. “I will admit that I had a terrible day. Thank you, user Yong, for being the sweetest highlight of my day today.” And she finishes it off with a pretty and highlighted Jupiter, one that reminds Taeyong that she is anonymous—but she is a human being. For all he knows, she might be eating spicy noodles, or laying in bed, or working a nine to five office job and sneaking some free time to respond to questions. Even better, she could be writing his next favorite book.

Is it wrong of him to be interested in someone just from their form of portraying art alone?

It’s creepy, isn’t it?

It brings a smile to his face, however, and he presses his cheek to his palm with a sigh of his own. The night still feels heavy, his head is thumping, his heart is aching…and there are the leftovers of despair that brings a frown to his pretty features, but there is the buzzing excitement of getting to know something more about Jupiter. At the very end of her response, there is a contact e-mail left and Taeyong raises his eyebrows in surprise. The thought that runs through his head, stupid like a kid’s imagination, is to send her an e-mail with all the gratitude he feels towards her. And that he does, sighing in relief when he turns to look at the TV to spend the rest of his night in utmost relaxation. Or the closest thing he can get to it.

❤️

Sweets are one of the addictions that Lee Taeyong has—that doesn’t make his life any sweeter, or easier, but something within him makes him believe that the only way of changing a bitter day is having what he likes to call optimism and sometimes, it comes with some time to rest and think, but other times he changes retail therapy for something easier. A chocolate bar, or candy, or a book—or mangas, he likes those as well.

But life holds comparison, and an antonym of Taeyong must be the librarian that works at his favorite library. Old and wearing a huge hat that covers his baldness, always sporting a frown on his face that someone needed to kiss—but Taeyong won’t, obviously. He should be taking advantage of the fast WIFI at the library, but instead he is looking at the e-mail address of the woman whom he continues to read books from. Not only books, pieces of art, intricate secrets of the world that no one gets to live.

Sometimes, Taeyong thinks that he wants to be part of a book.

He’s Lee Taeyong. He’s a romanticist, in love with love, but also in love with the idea of comic books and music. He loves technology, hates insecurity when it arises within him, and most importantly he loves a good night of internet searching. His first roommate was a guy whom he couldn’t get along with, and ever since then he doesn’t want to have a roommate. He’s the mother of his group of friends, and sometimes he feels like he’s that one character in books that no one really pays attention to. It’s stupid—how he feels like he is being looked at with her books, because her characters are never heroes. They are real people, with issues and problems, not witty sometimes, other times deeply shown with colors and highlights that make them interesting. Her power is that she sees boring people, like Taeyong considers himself to be, like the most interesting person in the world.

His fingers hover over the keyboard, teeth biting down on rosy lips coated in cherry chap-stick. His hair is brown and sticking around everywhere, fluffy and soft and with thick strands. His eyes itch, thanks to his posture and how he gets too close to the screen. He continues to look at his Gmail account, hoping that some ray of certainty hits him in the middle of the rain that is his day at that very moment, and he simply decides to speak about his day. He tells her that he is Lee Taeyong, that he loves her book and that he wanted to be a firefighter when he was younger. He talks about his day, most importantly, and once he finishes the e-mail, he notices just how stupid he must look.

This writer must be a person of power, with a pipe in between her fingers and fingers that have no imperfections as they type down on a keyboard. She must love French culture, and Spanish literature, and she probably dates a philosopher of sorts.

Why in the world did he think she would care about what he had to tell her?

He scratches the side of his face as he ponders on the fact that there is a person on the other end of the email, and that is not the biggest issue, the problem is that he doesn’t want to be ignored. Taeyong sighs, closing his eyes tightly as he presses his finger down on the ‘send’ button. It seems out of place, irrational, illogical, and Taeyong has made good and bad decisions in his life, but this one seems like it is outstanding on its own. He feels ashamed, but at the same time anxious, and he bites down on his bottom lip as he distracts himself with actual proper and useful things to do instead of daydreaming about a writer that is out of this world, just like her name.

Pluto is tiny. Venus is filled with love. Jupiter is big, meant to be noticed, with moons roaming around itself to show just how powerful it is. Sometimes, Taeyong thinks he is like the little prince from that one book he thinks he read once, the one that fell in love with a rose and was from the sky—but instead, he is in love with Jupiter. Outstanding, captivating, the only sight he could see now that he perceived it.

Is Taeyong Pluto, perhaps, seeing from far away to the big planet when he is even considered a star by some ignorant people?

Or is he a person that has gotten tired of the stars and wants something new?

Is he finally going crazy thanks to metaphors? Yeah, that’s possibly something that happened.

The sound of someone knocking on his door has him licking the leftovers of sugar that a gummy bear left on his fingers as he shouts at the top of his lungs for the visitor to wait. He makes sure that he looks presentable, running his fingers through his silky hair and cringing at the sticky feeling of his fingers that are covered in sweets. As he rushes to the door, he realizes his phone vibrates in the pocket of his sweatpants, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it. Instead, he receives the person on the other side of the wall by opening the barrier between them and he shares a smile. Toothy, small, it makes his eyes shine in a way that people rarely see.

Some people think Taeyong is scary, for some reason.

By his door is a woman by bangs, lips pouty and covered in red lip tint. Her hair is dark and long, eyes small and innocent. Taeyong knows who she is, the landlord’s daughter, Mihee, who would rather watch a hundred movies but a book is out of question. A film major that enjoys spending a few hours around the building that Taeyong lives at, totally different from how the man is right now. She doesn’t have to move a single finger to work, and yet she is still humble enough to greet him with a smile at times, cheeks dusted in a blush. Taeyong even feels a little bad, since it is quite clear that Mihee likes him—and had not she confessed that to Dongyoung when he had asked her out on a date, he would have never known. He rests his arm on his door, nodding his head as a greeting. “M-Mihee…it’s…it’s nice to see you here.” He breathes out an awkward laugh and his eyes trail down to the box in her hands. “Does your dad need me to pay rent a little bit earlier on the month this time? Because I don’t think I can—”

Looking over to the side, Mihee plays with her bottom lip by moving it between her teeth. “No...you can pay whenever.” She whispers and then, she pushes the box towards his arms. “I was buying some donuts for my dad and I decided to bring some for you…since I know you like sweets.”

How does she know? He has no idea, but what he does recognize is that he feels bad accepting such thing from a woman he does not feel anything for. Mihee is attractive, but he does not think he is at that point of his life where he wants a youthful, easy to comprehend, and lively woman. He wants…some mystery, something to have questions about. Someone, really. “Mihee, you shouldn’t have!” He starts. “I was having sweets just now, and I don’t want to get sugar-high so…you can have them.”

His phone vibrates once again and he cusses inside his head when Mihee insists: “Have them as breakfast, then.” She pushes the box once again and Taeyong finds himself pressed to the carton of the box, taking it in between his hands. “Please.”

Taeyong sighs, grinning after the action. “Alright. Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you.” And Taeyong wants to wince, but he doesn’t—because it is rare to see someone crush on someone so deeply. Crushes are that, dreams turned into imaginations that soon turn into disappointment, because putting someone on a pedestal is never good. Even Taeyong thinks that there is something a bit delusional about his love for Jupiter’s writings, but this is not about himself. “Uh, sorry.” She replies after noticing the silence that followed after that and Taeyong shakes his head.

“No, no.” He starts. “I’m flattered.”

Mihee’s eyes widen at that and Taeyong feels his heart clenching inside his chest. It feels wrong, to have someone falling in love with him—no, with the idea of him. Would she like him less or more if she saw him sprawled on his bed on his worst days, reading the stories of a woman that he doesn’t know, but he feels like he does? She would probably leave him on the spot. The more he thinks about his situation, the more embarrassing it gets. “Well, I shall get going. Dad said I had…to…do something. I don’t really remember.” She giggles and Taeyong gives her a tight lipped smile, lifting the box up a bit.

“Thanks for the donuts.”

“Thank you for your time.”

And then, with a bow, Mihee leaves, not forgetting to take a second glance at Taeyong and his lazy attire, black hair and gray pajamas. The man in question releases a sigh, placing the bag of donuts on his kitchen island and calling one of the numbers on his phone do have someone over to eat them. Maybe, Yoonoh hasn’t made dinner yet and he could have some donuts—since it is not good for Taeyong’s health to have that many sugar in his body. However, when he is unlocking his phone to text the first person that popped inside his head, he realizes he has an e-mail on his inbox.

Not only that.

An e-mail…from Jupiter.

Not the planet, definitely, but the orbit that has his mind roaming through the expenses of unreality. Part of himself thinks that daydreaming about someone is better than reality sometimes. He smiles, so happily that one would think he has never gone through hardship, and when he opens the e-mail, he is pleasantly surprised by the message. “Oh, you’re that one Yong user, right?! I remember you! Well, thank you…I didn’t think someone would like my stories all that much. It’s never too late to get a message like this, since you’ve made my day, too.” Taeyong wonders what type of voice does she have. Is her voice lightweight like a worrisome day with a nice grade and an excellent payment waiting at the end of the week? Or is her voice deep, meant to tell the world the most intelligent of eloquences to bathe it in knowledge? Sometimes, he thinks her voice might have the secrets of life, those deep hidden meanings that come with years of living in the hellhole that is the world.

He wants to believe that however she sounds, her words are beautiful. And he wants to hear her, read her, feel her in the form of words and paragraphs and sentences. Her aches might drop as a new book, but he wants to be the reminder that there can always be happy endings—or just a happy moment throughout hardship. It’s hard for him to believe that, as well. “Oh, Jupiter! You wouldn’t believe how much your writings have helped me.”

And almost as if they were texting, she replies immediately. “I would like to know. Tell me.”

“Do you have time?” He asks.

“My writer’s block is here to stay, so…yes, I have time.”

Taeyong did not know he needed to be heard, not listened to. He ached for a person to read his words and find meaning, just like how he found a world full of light in hers. He wanted life to suddenly have color, and she painted dots of white in his dull world. It’s tenderness at its finest, how he ends up having a midnight conversation that moves to the morning in flowing motions. It feels like he has known her forever, and he is no longer the kid that watches such a marvelous planet from a telescope—he’s there, with her, talking to her, making her feel less lonely when they are both alone. Two toys that finally found a home, not with a kid or a collector, but within themselves…with one another, better yet.

❤️

“Hey, Yong.”

Taeyong tries to pull his gaze away from the book at his hands, listen to the voice that is calling him, or the sound of boxes being opened around the library, but he is stuck in an old book to pass time. It is rainy outside, the utmost cause of his sudden change of mood, but he is also feeling a bit under the weather—suddenly the sky is gray, and his heart is shrinking for some reason. When he hears the pitter patter of someone walking closer, he does look up to the see the librarian in front of him. The older man frowns at the sight of Taeyong, almost lost in his sweater that is a few sizes too big for him, and with his hair covering his eyes slightly, those two orbs that looked at him with innocence, paired with parted lips in a pink shade. His fingers hold onto the book, nodding his head as he says: “Yes, Mister? Can I help you?”

The man fixes the hat on his head before clearing his throat. “Yes, you can.” He says excitedly before pointing with his thumb to the front of the library. “Some books have just arrived and one of the guys from my staff is sick, and since you’re such a good reader, I thought you could help me.” Taeyong stands up from the ground, mumbling some kind of acceptance to the librarian’s offer. “I’m sorry if I am bothering you. I never do this, but I’m short on hands and I can’t see well—”

“No. It’s alright.” Taeyong says, pressing the book back into its place before placing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “Lead the way, Sir.”

Anyone who gets the chance to meet Lee Taeyong thinks he is a man of good, that he has never stumbled in life, or ignored something important, or did something pointless. Sometimes, Taeyong is just like a piece of art—a sculpture, and he likes being praised, but there are people who can’t live with that. Those people are scared of being put in a pedestal, only to show that they do not shine in colors, that they are not what everyone expect. It is a thought that pops inside his brain when he realizes Jupiter’s pre-ordered books are being delivered to the library, signed for those who wanted to buy it, since she never shows her face…or shows anything, really.

He wants to take one of those books between his fingers, but one of the people there takes his wrist in between her fingers before sighing. “Excuse me, ah…those are not going to be organized yet.”

Taeyong looks over to the side, met with a woman that has her hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a sweater just as oversized as his, letting go of his skin the moment his eyes connect to hers. He must have hypnotized her in some way, looking over to the side in embarrassment, but he talks to her. After all, he is not stupid enough to stop talking to a pretty girl. “Uh, sorry.” He admits. “Want to tell me how to organize these book?”

“No.”

What?

“Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”

The woman in front of him nods her head, closing her eyes tightly. “Yes. Well, no! No…yes? I don’t know.”

Taeyong scowls at that. His heart aches and he lowers his head to place his face in her sight before raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I’m confused.”

She places one palm against her face, breathing lowly before replying. “Yong, it’s nothing.”

It takes him one second—no, two! It takes him two seconds to realize that she doesn’t work there, and that she came with the boxes filled with Jupiter’s newest release, most importantly, he realizes that said nickname is the one he uses for his e-mails when writing to Jupiter, a person that he has talked to a few times over the past few weeks. They have bonded over books and their love for them, what is good about their days and what isn’t so much. She must have noticed Taeyong’s change mentally as he takes a good glance at her. For what he can sense from her, she is as beautiful as her words are, and her pouty lips with her worried gaze only makes his heart jump the slightest.

“You’re Jupiter?” He whispers and she scoffs almost too quickly, as if she is falling to her knees with her lie. She takes her phone out of her bag, shaking her head as she looks at her texts. “Hey,” He speaks softly, nudging her side with his hand. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. I’m such a big fan—”

“I’m not her.”

“Are you sure? You called me Yong.”

She shushes him, cursing in between her teeth and strangely enough, she looks like an angel when doing so. She gets closer to him, to the point people would think they know each other—but they kind of do, sincerely. “Not a word about this to anyone.”

Even though he doesn’t get a confession, it is as clear as water to know that she is Jupiter. “What’s your real name?” She rolls her eyes, looking at her phone once again and he realizes that she needs to look away when saying the truth. She had gotten so used to lying she can’t even look at people and say the truth straight to their faces. When she does say her name, however, Taeyong’s smile becomes as addicting as bourbon. “And…sorry if I am making you uncomf—”

“Taeyong, carry those boxes there, please!” She lets out a soft breath when she realizes she won’t have to continue talking to Taeyong straight to his face, although through words on an e-mail things seemed easier. However, the world is never on her side, and she hears her name being called by the librarian. “…And you should carry the limited versions with him! Since you know more about that as Jupiter’s publicist.”

So, Jupiter herself pretends to be her own publicist just to hide her truth? Or is she her own team just to keep her secret? She bites her bottom lip and tries to take the box with the rest of the limited versions, but Taeyong beats her to it, instead bending his waist to carry the two boxes. “I can do it on my own.”

“I know.” He adds in a chirpy tone before grinning. “But I want to help you.”

Nonetheless, there is a cost to letting Taeyong help her, and she knows it. She remains quiet as she holds her two hands together, feet kicking fake dust from the floor before taking a glance at him. Taeyong is like one of the characters in her books, with love in his eyes and curiousness in his lips. With too much to think, too much fabric to cut, just enough for someone who has wanted to have the world at her feet, but has only gotten to see how ants roam around her flooring.

“Why do you hide your identity?”

She doesn’t seem offended, but it shows that she is out of place. After she clears her throat, arranges her thoughts and prepares the truth, because lies are too easy to tell, she finally speaks. “I guess I’m scared…” That’s all she says, and Taeyong expects for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Of course, they are strangers, and Taeyong can only nod his head before placing the boxes down. He wants to continue asking, getting to know the reason why she hides herself when having so much talent, but instead, he comes up with nothing. “Your…e-mails do make me smile, though. I appreciate it.”

He beams at that. “Really?” He asks and then, he looks down at the stacks of books, arranging them on a table neatly, always one to love cleaning. “I mean every single word. Your…your stories have stuck to me through this year.”

She chuckles at that. “I agree with you.”

“That your stories are excellent?”

“No.” She says, placing with a book as she roams her fingers over it. “That this year fucking sucks.” She cusses and Taeyong shakes his head, chuckling at her words before taking a peek inside one of her books. The cover is rose gold and shines in the perfect light, but when she tuts her tongue, he stops his movements. “No. You’ll have buy one of these tomorrow.”

Taeyong takes his wallet out of his pocket, taking some money out of it. “I’m paying for it now.” He places the money on top of her hand, watching her surprised expression thanks to seeing someone being so…himself. He is not scared of showing his real colors. “Only if you add a special note on the first page.”

She takes something from the table, maybe a pen, because she clicks it soon after and then taps the object to her lips. “What kind of note?”

Taeyong shrugs, organizing and making himself noticeable with just his mere presence. “Whatever you want.” She takes a good glance at his side profile, jotting something down on the first page and then, tossing the book at Taeyong that barely catches it between his hands. He opens the book, watching her face for a moment before looking at what it says:

“I hope you find the peace you gave me when reading this book.”

The man smiles, pressing the book to his chest like how he used to hold the toys he was given on Christmas when he was a child. She doesn’t look at him, too busy organizing, but if she did, her heart would have probably burst at the mere sight. “Thank you.”

“Thank me with some help arranging this.”

“Okay.” He says but when he starts working, he can’t help but start asking her questions. “On your second book, the character…wait, I know his name…he’s in the background but—”

Absentmindedly, he makes her day. For the first time in her life, she feels accepted by someone.

❤️

Neutral is a feeling, too, even when people do not confess it. You can feel neutral about a show, for example, not like it but also not hate it. You can have a neutral day, where cereal doesn’t taste well, and your clothes are just not nice looking enough—but they are not bad, also. That is exactly how Taeyong feels when it snows; the time where raindrops turn into snowflakes slowly but surely. He likes to wear thick clothing and big coats, but he hates having to clean after the rain, and he despises shivering at the mere touch of his feet against the flooring early in the morning. His fingers skim over the cup of black coffee he is holding in his hands, the plastic cup seeping its warmth to his skin. His eyes occasionally roam around the place, looking for his sister and his niece, whom had brought him to that park just to play with them.

If nodding his head to whatever his niece tells him and buying her gummy bears against his sister’s will counts as playing, though, that is a subject for people to judge.

But he does not really feel like playing, just like how he does not feel like staying at his apartment doing absolutely nothing but reading. He is the sand, between the water’s coldness and the sun’s hotness. No, he is the crab that walks around; perceiving, protecting himself, but also being vulnerable to people’s touch.

The material of his gray coat matches his bright blue turtleneck, and the fabric of his dark jeans. His dark hair is sleeked back, and he can feel a few glances of people looking at him. His sister is cheerily playing with her daughter, and he is sitting by a bench holding an insane amount of Barbie dolls and sweets. It is at that moment that he starts people watching, and he almost imagines stories for every person. A couple that falls in love, for example, right by one of the benches, when in reality they are just two students trying to take pictures for a project. It is weird, how books have changed his life, to the point he sees it differently.

Definitely from a better perspective, of course.

Sometimes, he writes letters to his favorite writer—Jupiter, that is no longer a planet but a star, a constellation that if he tries hard enough, he can reach. There had been a man in the moon, so he can touch the sky if that is what he so desperately pleases. And she, always (and this is not an exaggeration), always responds. Sometimes, it is a mix of words in between the lines of “Sorry, I can’t talk at the moment. I’m writing.” And other times, they talk about everything and anything.

He has gotten to know meaningless yet interesting things about her—like her favorite color, and how she can’t ever pick just one; or that one movie that she cries whenever she watches. Furthermore, she has said profound things about herself, as well, and Taeyong has spilled a few things about his heart, too.

Like how her first book is based on her first heartbreak.

And how Taeyong thinks he has loved many people, but he believes no one has loved him. At least, not the romantic type of love people talk about in books.

Soon after, she makes him feel better, telling him that there is no book that is not at least a little bit based on fiction, so to base something so carnal and emotional on some writing is lame. Taeyong, however, argues that every book has a little bit of reality, and that leads to another conversation.

Finally, she has someone to talk about her reality with.

But she still hides, just like how when she gave him her number through an e-mail, she said she did not want him to call her (“I prefer writing,” she said, “I feel like my voice is annoying.”), but she would never believe that Taeyong both loved listening to her and also, reading her. It is an unusual use of words, combination of a verb and a person that might sound either really stupid or insanely creepy, but reading her is nothing more than seeing her truest soul through words. Every lie has its reality, or so he believes, but he is proud of saying that he thinks his favorite author is not lying to him.

Giving her peace, that is somehow the main reason why he believes she is being truthful.

Taeyong jumps slightly when he hears the sound of something falling to the floor, although it touches the snow and the sound is not as hard as it should. The person who let their phone fall curses quite audibly, kneeling down and taking the device in between her hands, unlocking it and checking it was fine, using her sleeve to wipe off the snow from the very front of the screen. Taeyong acts upon his slight innocence, not the type of innocence that everyone would think about, but the one that keeps him looking at the world as if it was beautiful, when in reality there are terrible things about it.

“Is your phone okay?” And when said woman looks at him to respond, he realizes that cladded on a hoodie and a coat over it is the author he is always thinking about. A smile spreads across his face, like butter on bread, and her eyes widen at the mere sight of him.

“Yes.” She replies, standing up from the freezing ground with white spots on her jeans, specifically where her knees are. Her fingers fiddle with her one, passing it from one hand to other, and she swings back and forth as a way of distracting herself. “It’s fine. It’s nothing—”

“Be careful.” Taeyong says and it shouldn’t feel warm, because it is damn freezing at the very moment, but there is something about his voice that calms her down. No, there is something about Taeyong that translates to summer mornings, for some reason. He interlocks his hands behind his back and with a mere smile, he continues his train of thought: “Wouldn’t want my favorite person to have a broken phone.”

She squints her eyes. “That’s such a weird sentence…” She whispers before clearing her throat. Her eyes widen, because he had not just said that she is his favorite person. Taeyong could have easily picked Cervantes, a writer, or George Washington or maybe…Lee Minho, that most definitely has everyone eating from the palm of his hand after every drama, but he picked her. “W-Wait…you meant to say favorite author, correct?”

Taeyong shakes his head, his cheeks burning in color just like his nose that makes him sniffle continuously thanks to the coldness of the day. “I said what I said.”

She chuckles at that. “You’re crazy.” She starts. “We have only talked through e-mails.”

Taking the opportunity of hearing her admit that she is the author Jupiter, something that she doesn’t do often even when he asks her through e-mails, he presses his index finger to her shoulder momentarily as a grin appears on his face. “So you are not Jupiter’s publicist?”

In reality, she has a publicist—an old man that takes her word on the fact that she is going to represent him physically when she goes to libraries or book signings, since no one would know she is actually the author a lot of people have looked up to for the last three years. She has two best sellers, a nice amount of New York Times’ mentions, and most importantly, a few awards that she keeps hidden in boxes because she never tells anyone about her real job. To anyone that asks, she is a publicist. “You already know the answer.” She bites back and then, she kneels down to grab a handful of now.

“What—?” And then, Taeyong feels it, the snowball that hits his chest and has him gasping. She gives him a smile like a child’s, showing just how interesting she finds the situation to be, and with a mere smirk, he retorts with a snowball thrown her way, as well.

“Hey, don’t me mean!”

“You threw a snowball at me, too!”

“Sorry, my hand slipped.” She comments and Taeyong can’t help but laugh, watching her red-colored lips and the beanie that covers her head. He can’t help but find her beautiful, because he has gotten to know her—even through letters on a screen, or on a piece of paper, or just in person. They don’t know each other, but Taeyong thinks romanticism is better when he is blind, sighted by the beauty of life.

“Uh…do you have something to do right now?” Taeyong asks and she answers:

“I’m free, actually.” But he can tell that it will take her a long while to ever open up to him, or anyone for that matter, because (as he has thought plenty of times before), she is nothing more than a lie—and he wants to see the truth inside her. “Why…?” And she has written a hundred of love scenes, like burglars that find love in non-existent shadows, or maybe love triangles between the guardians of a king, but she has never imagined stories that can be developed in real life. Mediocrity at its finest, that is how she would describe her romantic life, but maybe someone could change that. “You aren’t busy?”

“I’m here with my sister and her daughter, but they aren’t paying attention to me so…” He trails his voice, biting his bottom lip and fluttering his dark eyelashes before lending his bent arm at her, his hand hidden at the depth of his pocket. She hesitates, looking at his arm when he says: “Let’s find some street food around here, and stuff our faces with some grease. How about that?”

She scoffs, because romance is not supposed to be like this. He should be dramatic, or maybe even invite her to some coffee, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Lead the way.”

“What kind of food do you like?”

She’s like a fruit that he tries to peel, but with every bit of skin that he gets to see, there is another part covering it. She has layers, ones that Taeyong doubts he can get through…but he has never been one to think of that as something bad. After all, the best of books tend to be longer than most ones…and what is so wrong about a few hundred more pages to read, just to get to the perfect ending?

❤️

“So, are you okay with finally telling me why you’ve never shown yourself off to the public after becoming so successful?”

It is not common to see her at the library, and he is always there, but life seems to make do with whatever moment they can have together, working with a friend called ‘coincidence’ just to get a meeting from two people who only talk online, or through the phone (because, finally, Taeyong can text her or call her if needed). This time around, she is signing some new prints of her book, because her latest project had been excellently received in that library—no, around the city and the country itself, and to keep it a secret, she does it at the very corner of the library, when the place is about to close down and students are too occupied on not falling asleep on their notebooks to even pay attention to some anonymous writer. Taeyong, on the other hand, has already finished his book of the day, and he is helping the librarian by dusting some of the old history books by the shelves. To be honest, people rarely read those by now…

For a moment, he does not get an answer from the author, and he thinks that he will remained bothered with an unanswered question, but she lets out a sigh that lets him know there is going to be a sentence coming soon after. And indeed, she speaks up. “I told you before,” She starts. “That I’m scared.”

He pouts his lips, turning around with a book pressed to his chest before mumbling—really, that is all they can do in that library—. “Why? You’re so talented. You shouldn’t feel scared!”

Sometimes what we don’t see is what scares us the most. What we don’t live, what we can’t perceive, what we can’t touch. No one ever says that intrigue is also pain, that when they unite they create the worst of mixes, and she knows this. She bites down on her bottom lip, dismissing what he says with a movement of her hand before continuing with her signings. “Thank you. You’ve told me that already.” Although, she never gets tired of hearing him say it. Or anyone, for that matter. Yet, Taeyong makes it sound special each time. “And don’t be so curious about things. That’s not good.”

Taeyong moves towards her quickly, settling himself on the seat in front of her at the table. “But—” He initiates. “We’ve known each other for a month…maybe a little bit more. I would guess you’d want to give me that little bit of information, since I am your only fan that knows your true identity.”

“I still haven’t told you if I am Jupiter.”

He widens his eyes comically. “It’s obvious!”

“…Either way,” She breathes out, clicking on her pen and leaning back on her chair. “Don’t call yourself a fan either. I’m not a person you should look up to.”

“What?” He asks in a whisper before resting both of his hands on his cheeks, pushing them together slightly but absentmindedly. “You don’t even notice how powerful you are?! Not only in writing, no.” The way he talks about her doesn’t give her a sense of comfort, it brings her fear…not knowing if she would live up to the expectation Taeyong has for her. “In everything. You’re beautiful, and intelligent, and definitely mysterious and creative. Not only that, but you also like the same sweets as me…and love replying to my stupid ramblings…” His voice gets lower as he pulls on the sleeve of his sweat, suddenly becoming shy at the mere thought of saying all those things in front of her. Taeyong doesn’t know how to call what he feels for her, or that if he would give it a name at all, but the mark that her art and her persona have left on him is timeless. “…I just want to know.”

She realizes that enough is enough, and that she wants to be bared of her fears only for the slightest of seconds. Nonetheless, she hesitates to speak about what troubles her, whatever it is that keeps her from being truthful to herself—or the world, for that matter. “I’m scared of being judged.” She starts. “Not for my writing, I want to be judged as an artist…but people are mean in this world. What happens when people I know in real life judge me? Or if I suddenly fail and people watched me do so?” She lowers her voice when she realizes she got a little bit into it. Her hands close the book she had been signing harshly before releasing a big sigh. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t be pouring my insecurities on you—”

The world switches, and Taeyong is suddenly brave, and there is water in between them instead of a huge brick wall. His fingers reach for hers, delicately tracing the outline of the veins that pop out of her hands, resting his palm in an engulfing manner just on top of the back of her hand and when he looks into her eyes, he sees the surprise in them, because she has definitely written a hundred stories about encounters like that one, or having a person that understood a character in such a way…but could something like that exist in real life? “No.” He wraps the word cutely around his lips, like a present just for her. “I want to hear them, because you never talk to anyone about these things…and it’s good to get it out of your chest.”

But he could always hurt her and spill her secret to everyone if something ever went wrong. “I’ll be fine—”

“I know you will.” Taeyong says, his soft skin and thin lips shining with just one glance. She swallows thickly, seeing how he suddenly becomes a prince right in front of her eyes. “But…even if you decide to stay anonymous, just know that there are people like me who will accept you. Maybe, don’t go public to your writers…but tell the closest people in your life. Don’t feel ashamed of liking something and making a living out of it.”

Whether she feels like crying or not, bawling her hands and clinging to his chest just to pour all her emotions out, or not, is not perceivable. However, she stacks the books together, patting them against the table before standing up. All she says is: “Thank you.” But it weights as much as a bus, and Taeyong is not a weightlifter—it downs him, makes his heart race, presses him to the floor because he has done something for someone he cares about. He has taken a layer off the igloo, and that has to be something. She goes around the table, pressing a kiss to his cheek and stumbling over her words soon after. “I, uh…I have to go deliver these now and find something to eat…”

Taeyong smiles, tilting his head to the side to look into her eyes. “Yeah?” He asks dreamily, his skin tingling, his mind burning, his heart set ablaze because he is making her nervous. Progress is what he calls it.

She nods her head. “Uh-huh.”

Taeyong moves his face, pressing a kiss to her cheek in return of hers, and he smiles toothily when she gazes at him with impression on her face. “Make sure to send me a text when you get to eat, okay?”

With a gaze full of tenderness, she hums in approval. Of Taeyong, or of the situation, but she is content for the slightest moment.

❤️

Mihee isn’t supposed to be there. At the library, his meeting place with the woman that starts to feel like a dream, because she is more the illumination of his screen late at night that dries his eyes that a palpable being that he gets to see outside of the library. However, Taeyong had been carrying a big amount of plastic plates, spoons and forks, as well as some boxes filled with his favorite meals and pastries—all prepared by himself—for the little lunch break that he is planning, all in commemoration of having one of ‘Jupiter’s’ books going out of stock after only two months of being released, a best seller at its truest form. He needed some helping hands, and Mihee is always there for Taeyong.

Sure, it sounds fucked up, to have the person that likes him help him get the person he likes, but that is just a big slice of the cake that is life.

“Yong?” Mihee asks in her soft voice, turning around with sweater paws covering her hands and sweetness coating her eyes as she holds onto some empty bag. “Why are you preparing all this?”

Someone would say he’s crazy. Others would say he is a romanticist. Taeyong, however, thinks he is just being optimistic about his whole ordeal with his crush. It is like he has a brick wall in front of him, and he is driving a Maserati, and instead of stopping on his tracks to not crash, he goes full force into what is her life, and sometimes he feels left out, but by scraping the slightest part of her personality, he gets to see a glimpse of the real her. That, of course, is not something that he should tell Mihee, the woman that basically second-hand owns his apartment—or the building he lives in, per say—and that crushes on him madly ever since months ago…or years. “A friend of mine finished a project and it was successful…so we’re basically celebrating.”

Mihee is not stupid and she squints her eyes out of suspicion. “At a library?”

“Well, she likes books.” Taeyong admits and Mihee’s vibe falters at that, hunching over and playing with her hands as Taeyong continues with the finishing touches.

“So they’re a she…”

“And?”

The woman in question widens her eyes at that. “N-Nothing!”

But Taeyong recognizes what she feels: raw jealousy that fades into discomfort. He tries not to make her feel bad, instead patting his hand against her back as a way of comforting her. “Thank you for helping me out. I appreciate it.”

And instead of breaking hearts, Taeyong mends Mihee’s back together with a smile, as if that is enough to count as love. He understands her, strangely, because he feels the same for the author that has taken his breath away through words, and then with her beauty, finally with her personality, but her emotions have been nothing more than a hazy picture for Taeyong to figure out. Sometimes, he feels like their conversations are deep in flirting, and that their getaways are dates—but other times, she closes down once again, emanated by fear, and Taeyong is left with the same feelings he had at the beginning. She exists, but she is untouchable.

People say they love the moon, but they don’t love how far away it is.

Is it normal that he wants to continue, even when she gets further away?

Her pseudonym says it: Jupiter. A planet far, far away.

“Anytime!” Mihee adds with a smile, beaming with happiness until they hear the sound of someone tripping with a chair. Taeyong turns to look at the source of noise, and Mihee seems to do as well, noticing that the woman he had prepared all those meals for is standing right there, holding onto the edge of a table before smiling weakly.

“You’re here—”

“Ah, yes…you kind of told me I had to come here.” She replies, waving weakly at the woman beside Taeyong before widening her eyes at him, wearing a fake smile that has Taeyong’s wondering what she thinks of the situation. “I…” She scratches the side of her head, chuckling a little bit at her silence. “What were you planning exactly?”

“Since your project got so much praise and love…I wanted to celebrate.” But it is not Taeyong and her celebrating, like it had always been, there is someone else in the room and the secret of her job is still a subject that shall remain in between two people. She grits her teeth together, watching the plates and the food, the nice smell that lingers on the air, the small table at the edge of the library decorated with a sign that says ‘congratulations’ and if only it had been Taeyong there, alone, she would have loved the surprise…but he is accompanied by someone, and there is a gush of something that radiates deep within her. “This is my friend, Mihee. Mihee, she’s—”

She takes her phone out of her pocket, pretending that it is vibrating before putting it up to her ear. “Yeah, I am getting a call…Hello?” Taeyong knows it’s a lie and she tries not to cringe at the sound of her voice, but the way she closes her eyes tightly lets him know that she is trying to run away once again.

“Hey, cut it off.” Taeyong says, more like whispers, as he gets closer to her. She watches his eyes as he gently takes her by the wrist, his gaze showing nothing more than disillusionment. “Nothing bad will happen. Don’t act like this.” Mihee does not listen to their conversation, and Taeyong is too close. She realizes then that getting close to him, a stranger that adores Jupiter—her pseudonym—, is not what she should be doing. Jupiter is a version of herself that is not afraid of judgement or everything that surrounds her, and a mistake from her part could lead to Taeyong telling her secret. Most of the time, she feels like she can trust him—but Taeyong is innocent, he believes in people like Mihee, he trusts that the world is a bone with its head and its body, it’s never broken…and for some reason, she can’t see that part of life. “Can we just sit down and eat and celebrate?”

“Oh, yeah, Boss…I-I did not know…you needed me there. I’ll be on my way.” She pretends she is on the phone, looking straight into Taeyong’s black eyes before putting her phone down. “I can’t stay.”

“I didn’t say a single thing. You’re overreacting.”

She leans closer to Taeyong, until she can count every hair in his eyelashes, fine and soft. Then, she mumbles: “I’m sorry. I can’t risk having someone else around us…that’s not…what I want.” Or maybe, she just realizes Taeyong is not a loner like she is, and sometimes she feels like they are in their own bubble—only the two of them—and it is ridiculous and egotistical of her to want to keep him in her lie filled, fearful life. “But I can take the food with me.”

Taeyong pulls away, taking the plates in his hands and giving them to her before sighing. “If that’s what you want…” She bites on her bottom lip, because it is not what she wants, but it is what she feels like she needs. Mouthing a small ‘thank you’ and saying a ‘nice to meet you’ to Mihee, she gets out of the library in a rush, leaving Taeyong with his heart in his sleeve, and his lips pouty out of…anger? Sadness, maybe?

Mihee whistles. “Your friend is busy.”

Taeyong looks to the side, pondering if he should feel angry at himself for bringing Mihee over or because the woman that just left is in absolute denial of her talents and how they are powerful enough to be shown to the world. “She is.” He confirms, crossing his arms over his chest before sighing. “Want to eat the leftovers?”

And Mihee’s eyes shine with the idea of a love affair that doesn’t exist.

❤️

“Jo In-Sung what?!”

She does have friends, ones that don’t know about her identity as nothing more than the best-seller, romance author Jupiter, but Taeyong is the closest person that she dares to call a friend to which she can talk about her success as a writer. Earlier that month, she had been contacted to be told that her first book was going to be bought to be turned into a movie. That morning, however, she received an invitation to attend the first recording of the first scene of the movie. Turns out, Jo In-Sung, in all his famous actor glory, was going to be the main character of said movie—and of course, she had to deny it as Jupiter. Not that she couldn’t attend as Jupiter’s publicist. “The Jo In-Sung is going to be the male lead of the movie based on my book and I get to meet him as Jupiter’s publicist.”

Taeyong scoffs, because she is the author herself and even when something as big as that opportunity arrives at her doorstep, she can’t open the door to reality. “We should celebrate!”

She bites down on her bottom lip, pressing her phone to her ear and continuing with responding to e-mails. “With your friend there?”

The encounter with Mihee at the library had passed a few weeks ago, yet, she could not let go of it and that caused Taeyong to roll his eyes. “Nope. Just you and me and my favorite restaurant, and a beautiful sunset if that’s what you want.”

And a sunset and a pretty man do sound like the best idea she has had so far, but when Taeyong parks in front of the restaurant that he had been bragging about, elegant and with gourmet dishes that aren’t the size of a toe-nail, she feels absolute fear. The fabric of her dress hugs her body nicely, with a heart-shaped neckline that falls off her shoulders and creates the shape of an elegant woman, but that is not the look she wants to have when she dies…because if she ever gets to the highest floor of that building, she will totally pass out along the way. Taeyong said the restaurant was a little bit high, so she thought a second floor or a third…not a thirteenth floor.

“Oh no, I’m not going up there.” She says after she gets out of the car, holding tightly onto her purse. Taeyong moves over so he is standing in front of her, wearing a white button down and trousers in typical elegant fashion. He runs his fingers through his dark locks, the silky strands falling back onto his forehead, and he sighs at the sound of her voice. Dramatics are on her tone, something that comes with writing so many books in the lines of romance. “Next week, I am meeting one of the most loved actors of the country, and I am not getting up there. Jo In-Sung is waiting for me.”

“For Jupiter, you mean. We agreed that you’re not Jupiter, right?” Taeyong asks in a sarcastic manner and she rolls her eyes. The man smiles gleefully, taking her hand in his and trapping her fingers in between his before giving a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “It’s just an elevator and then some big glassy windows. I have come here before and nothing will happen to you.”

“I’m scared of heights; can’t you tell?”

Taeyong nods his head. “And I understand.” He admits. “But we can’t let your fears get the best of you. You already fear so many things.”

And while she complains about how she does not along the way, holding Taeyong closely to her body, she knows he is correct.

She can say a lot about herself; how she fears heights and ants, failure but at the same time utter success. She thinks fears, as you get older, become miniscule or invisible—to the point big monsters don’t scare you anymore, but what can’t be seen seems like a more fitted nightmare. Sometimes, she wishes her life would not be guided by her fears, that she could be like Taeyong: willing to fall into the hands of life like a leaf from an Autumn tree. She has never trusted life, however, because whenever she falls, it is face first on the floor and it hurts her. She does not want to be hurt, or judged for falling.

Her eyes are closed tightly when the doors of the elevators open and Taeyong chuckles before wrapping an arm around her waist, letting go of her hand but feeling her fingers reach for his biceps to grip onto something. “We’re here.” He whispers, near her face to the point she smells his scent, and when she opens her eyes they are greeted by the sight of an elegant restaurant. Dark carpet with a tone of brown, walls that are made out of glassy windows and a skyline that deserves its own book. “See? Little by little, step by step…you can get over your fears.”

Only if he is there, but she won’t say that. “I doubt it.”

“Why?” Taeyong asks, after they are leaded to their table, that is—and she remember that Taeyong said that he has a friend working there that helped him get some reservations at the last minute.

Once she sits down, she answers. “My fears are already part of me.”

“You said it! Part, not entirely you.”

Dear, lovely, adored Taeyong, that sees life like something easy…when it is not. She smacks her lips together, looks into his eyes and hopes that she could let go of what she is scared of, but it is too late for her. “I am paranoid. I have got to settle with that.”

“You can change, if you want to.”

She looks over to the menu, ignoring what he said as she starts: “What did you say was your favorite dish—?”

Taeyong’s feet gently taps her calf under the table as he whines. “Don’t ignore the topic.”

“I’m hungry.”

“But—”

“Hungry, I said.”

With a kiss, you’ll know if love is real. That is a part of her first book, and she thinks she was full of bullshit when she wrote it, maybe she had been thinking about something that sounded profound but was not really, but now that she is a few years older and she has Taeyong in front of her, she thinks she really was wrong. When love is felt without a kiss, it aches a hundred times more, it makes your problems fluttering butterflies and every date becomes a set of words that you can’t wait to read. She wishes she could kiss Taeyong, tell him about the space he has earned inside his heart, but she can’t.

She doesn’t want to make him go through the hassle of loving her.

She is complicated, like how she takes too long to pick what she wants to eat and how she laughs a little too loudly at his jokes. They share smiles and conversations after eating, even when they are just looking at the sunset, and all that she can think about is the end—not because she wants the closure of the date, or of their friendship, whatever had blossomed between them in the past few months, but because she is visibly and mentally scared of how things end. When someone told her that nothing lasts forever, she took it to heart.

But Taeyong is sweet, like everything she never had, and with a simple movement of his chair, he is seated by her side, not caring if people look at him, listening to her every word and ounce of pride she has for herself, because a movie deal is a lot of money, and her book is being recognized to a bigger extent. His fingers reach for her hair, tucking the strands behind her ears and trailing his fingers down to touch her long golden earrings. He grabs her jaw, his lips quirking into a soft smile as he says: “I am proud of you. Not of Jupiter, but of you.” And it means a lot, because Jupiter had always been more powerful, but there is someone that liked her. Not a planet, or a writer, but her.

She holds his wrist in between her fingers, widening her eyes and fluttering her eyelashes up at him. “Say that again.”

Taeyong chuckles at that. “What if I say something better?”

She continues his laughter. “I don’t think there is something better than that.”

“Mhm?” He hums before leaning forward, his breath ghosting over hers as he looks from her eyes to her lips, creating a set of dots—constellations that he unites into his own zodiac. “I like you.”

When he kisses her, at the almost empty restaurant that is about to get packed in an hour or so—since it was too early to have dinner—, he does it so softly that it feels like she is made of stars. His lips press to hers delicately at first, the thin skin coated in her lip-gloss in the matter of seconds. His hand travels down to her jaw, his touch warm as it seeps through her skin. He tilts his head to the left, and she wishes she could open her eyes just to look at his blissed expression, at the way he lets out a soft sound against her lips when he opens his mouth the slightest to let the tip of his tongue touch the surface of her lips. She invites him in, or more like her body does without asking her mind, letting her hands fall to his knees, wanting to be closer but making it impossible in the uncomfortable position. The sound of their lips joined together ends too quickly, pulling away to watch Taeyong lick his lips with his eyes closed, letting out a smile that means the whole word to her.

With a kiss, she knew she loved him.

But with doubt, she knew she would never tell him.

❤️

Do you remember the first lie you told?

She doesn’t, but she remembers the last. It was on a Sunday afternoon, seated on top of Taeyong’s car, swinging her legs with the man beside her serving as leverage, her head resting on his shoulder. Taeyong’s fingers are on her thigh, and he talks about how excited he is for the little sneak-peaks he got to see when he went to see the recording of the movie with her. His voice is lightweight, filled with energy, and sometimes she wishes she could tell him how much she loves it, or how she never wants to have his heart broken by anyone…but then she is reminded that she fears the end of it all, and the least she wants is to be able to recognize that she fell for him and then have it taken away from her.

“One day, you will finally reveal yourself as Jupiter. I know so.” Taeyong says with excitement, shaking his head and smiling up at the stars. She, however, can’t imagine such day and his thoughts of her being successful are always the main source of their arguing. Writing is not supposed to be a job, so it is logical of her to think that it won’t last—

But will they last? “I don’t think so.” She says, stopping the movement of her legs before cupping his cheek, making him turn towards her as she looks at his face. Sometimes, she thinks the easier option is just breaking everything up with him, but she does not want to lose him. All she knows is that Lee Taeyong should be the definition of forever. Taeyong whines, blushing because of her gaze.

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I am not.” And there’s a lie, but Taeyong only smiles through it, leaning in to the point her back is pressed to the car’s hood, his fingers resting on her waist before kissing her lips. As always, Taeyong takes his precious time and when he deepens the kiss, it is unexpected. Only that every time he kisses her, she wishes he can feel what she never says—I love you. I like you. Please, never leave.

With a kiss, they make a brief love timeless, and even when someday it will end…a kiss is all they need to make it better.

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