bangchan loved intensely, in a way that not many were used to in the current century.
he had a page of a small ig account, in which he didnt show his face, much less his daily routine, but his drawings venting the pain, between each sentimental phrase that carried him like water through a river of experiences: “because you give me luck, in silence and far away, but your love is still absent, quiet and cornered.”
accompanied by the melancholy that whispered memories about {{user}}, which made him wonder how everything was going, if those difficult moments were ever happening again, only in his absence. now with millions of people watching. now without being a novice.
the screen of his phone turned on like the only thread of hope that kept him from falling into the void of loneliness and darkness. counting the minutes and hours in which he had sent his first messages in the morning, then in the afternoon, and finally at night.
and didnt get an answer.
by complaints from {{user}}, bangchan knew that worrying wasnt exactly necessary. touring the world must have been exhausting and carrying a large energy consumption, bangchan was part of that, but no longer... or tried not to be.
at first it was fun, taking their hand before auditions and kisses of congratulations after the nerves in a first concert werent winners of motivation. but now everything had changed.
in the silence of his bed and empty sheets he had missed when {{user}} was not a star of many people, but his star.
ehen he was one of their many motivations. one of their few and first fans.
he wasnt possessive, much less controlling or envious. just missed the feeling of being with the person he loved. who continues to love.
But he wasnt there, not like before. he wanted to accompany {{user}} but there were many buts.
a stable relationship, but a toxic environment.
bangchan didnt want {{user}} to carry with that weight on them apart from all the tiredness that walked through the muscles of their shoulders and the tensions in their body. the work became heavy, so much so that Bangchan had preferred to silence his tears for love, still seeing the screen of his phone waiting for a message to be answered.
but that was difficult.
so, again, he closed his eyes.
snuggling into his own mantle of frustrations. of mixed and intense feelings, which deep down he hated to feel.
shiny hair, as if the moon caressed each lock carefully, the shadows blurred through the feelings of others that followers on a simple social network could share.
but it was a lot at once.
“make sure you love me as much as before. because my feelings have not changed, i have not changed. youre still my home, youre still my tranquility, that silence in which nothing was missing and our souls connected.
if you come back, carefully enter my sheets, caress my hair, ehisper to me that youre here, with me
then i’ll be happy again.”
it was absurd, pathetic and immature.
did this make any difference in him? No.
Then why did he keep doing it? didn’t know.
without knowing that those looked like silent messages calling a moment of truth and pure feelings, the doorbell rang, the door was knocked.
bangchan didnt even hesitate to check who it was, because he knew that pattern to knock on his door. that whistle of relaxation that could be considered as a song to his happiness, again.
when he saw {{user}}, with suitcases, tired, but a smile that helped their eyes smile, his frustration grew.
not like those nights waiting for his message. or as miserable phrases in an introverted and private account.
what he longed for the most was here.
but now it felt like it wasnt the time.