In The Middle (Namon/PangWave One Shots)

Love In Dazzling Technicolor

Happy Pride Month, everyone!

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"And the Best Actor Award goes to..."

Your mind had gone blank, memories lost to time flooded back: His skin like polished wood, eyes drowned in golden sunbeams. The hikes through the forest, chasing the afternoon glow that barely crept through the vines and canopies. Dried leaves and twigs crunched and cracked under your shoes, and his shallow, heavy breathing lingered behind you as his hands pushed you further before you could even give up. It was the last day of your camping trip with him. Alone. Just him and you. Then, you remember his soft lips from the night before, his muscles tensing as you leaned onto him, merging your heat with his.

"Just a little bit more," he whispered in your ear.

A blush crept through your skin as the touches and soft sighs replayed in your head. You heard his laugh and then his shout. At the edge of a cliff, the forest below was drowned in gold and auburn with teal lurking in the shadows of the trees. The city was hidden underneath a smog in the distance. Wind rushed past you just as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You were alone with him. Him. Secretly enshrined in the trees of the forest was your love affair. Was it fair to call it love? You were still young, perhaps. Too young to understand that true love was not a paradise but a road that winds and dips and curves. Yet you did not care. Young and foolish, maybe.

"What do you think?" he asked you.

You watched as the sun slowly set on the horizon, beneath the ocean of clouds.

"The future looks bright," you answered.

A gust of wind again, and then, it was raining. He and you rushed through the woods, clothes already drenched in the downpour. The smell of the rain was etched in your memory.

There was an uproar. Everyone around you had all stood up. They were clapping. Gun pulled you up to stand, embracing you tightly. Your friends were screaming happily. You won the award—wait, you what? Your eyes wandered the auditorium. Everyone was waiting for you to go up the stage. Each step you took felt like an eternity. It was only when you were standing in front of all of them—in front of the flashing cameras—that the elation kicked in, that the realization sank in. You held back your tears. Your head hurts. Maybe it's because of the shock. You thanked everyone you can think of. Your eyes scanned the crowd. Was he here? As you continued to speak, your eyes wandered about, searching frantically for his face. There was a tinge of sadness inside you but you kept on spending the last few seconds thanking the people you've initially forgotten to thank. Just as you turned to the backstage, there he was in the multitude: clapping like the rest of the crowd, smiling his light of a million mornings. Your head kept pounding. It was the deafening roar echoing behind your ears and on the back of your neck. Blood was rushing through your body as euphoria took over—or so you told yourself. The trophy suddenly felt heavy in your hand. The dark backstage was suddenly swimming. The room was dancing. The pin lights hurt your eyes. You stumbled a bit. Darkness crept near the edges of your vision. The words of the backstage crew were muffled sounds. Your co-artist who won the award before yours was rushing towards you to give a hug but you were already staggering backwards. She screamed. Everyone was running towards you. Someone was caught you from behind.

"Mon?! Mon?!"

It was his voice. It was him. You wanted to touch him, say hi at least. That's what you struggled to do and say before everything felt numb and then, pitch black. And then, nothing.

After the last day of your camping trip, you got sick. The fever was gone after a day but as you were playing video games with him, blood suddenly came gushing out of your nose and mouth. The metal taste filled your senses. It tasted like death. Was mortality metallic? Or was it the taste of death's scythe slashing through your soul? That was the stupid thing you asked as he carried you hastily, running down the stairs—"SHIT NO NO NO PLEASE GODS NO FUCK NO PLEASE NO NO NO," you heard him curse under his breath—and calling for help.