In my eyes | Yeonbin

A good idol

4th December. Your birthday is just a few minutes away, and we are on live with our MOAs. I still remember the first live show we did after our debut. How embarrassed we were, all of us. Especially you, shy as you are. I've always loved live shows, talking to the fans, seeing them responding, and knowing they loved us. But now it's getting harder and harder to turn on the camera. I read it in the chat. I read it a thousand times, the fusion of our names. The first time I read it, it made me smile, I thought it was sweet. Now, however, every time I read our name, I always feel a little worse, always a little more unhappy. Especially since you noticed it. I saw it, the embarrassment on your face. And it was at that moment I realized I was the only one who really wanted it. And then, that name created by the union of ours, I started not wanting to see it anymore. But they always write it. And I always feel bad. We started giving our fans what they wanted: the two of us together. Me getting close to you and you withdrawing. They laugh, everything is fine. I thought they would get tired, but they always want more. But I cannot do more, even if I want to. I would like to give more to you. Sometimes I almost want to tell everyone how much I like you. But sadly, someone like me isn't allowed to tell the truth. Today is the same as always. I'm sitting next to you when I see it, our name. The girls call us "oppa". They are all younger than us. Once I would have been on cloud nine hearing girls calling me that. Once. Before I realised that I am what I am. Now being called like that doesn't affect me anymore. I feel guilty about it. They cannot know, they think they would make us, me, happy by using this word. I don't want to disappoint them. The only one I would like to call me like that, though, is you. I am a little ashamed of this desire. I know a guy shouldn't call another "oppa". Yet, I wish it, I wish that you call me like that. I'm sorry. I hold on to this very name to get closer to you and give my sweet fans what would make them happy, what would make them laugh. Maybe it's not true that I'm forced by the fans. Maybe it's just an excuse, pretending to give them what they want and actually behave like I wish I could always do. Yes, it certainly is. But maybe, if they didn't ask, it would all be easier. It hurts me a little, but it also makes me a little happy, pretending for a little while to be what I wish we were. So maybe I should thank them. They give me an excuse to steal little moments with you. To touch you. To be close to you. I tell you to believe your "oppa", I put my arm around your shoulders. I feel you paralysing. Sorry, I know you don't want it. I am selfish. I know I should leave you alone, but I can't. I dare to throw you a kiss, a few inches from your cheek, I would really like to give it to you for real. You withdraw, as you always do. I convince myself that you do it because you are shy, I do not want to face the reality that, for you, I am a cause for shame. But this time, I see you covering a smile with your hand. For a moment, I seem to see your cheeks turning a little red. You are so cute. It almost seems that what I'm doing makes you happy. My hand slips on your thigh and I bring your leg on mine, getting closer and closer. Here, if we were alone, if it weren't us, if you were like me, I could think of dragging you on my lap and leaving many little kisses on your face. I feel the muscles in your leg contracting. It seems so obvious to me that you don't like it. I feel like I'm swallowing bad medicine. Of those that leave that bitter aftertaste. Of those that mum covers in sugar before giving them to you, to protect you from the bad taste. Who knows if there is sugar even for this type of bitter pill. I move away from you, pretending it was just a skit, as always. I glance at the camera. I hope my MOAs are happy, I tried to be as convincing as I could. I'm about to take my arm off your shoulder. Perhaps it is the case that it returns to abandon itself along my body. I don't have time to lower it, that you snuggle under it. When you stick your side to mine, time seems to slow down. What are you doing? Your head rests against mine. Your black hair tickles my cheek. I feel dizzy. I feel you relax by my side, with my arm around your shoulders. Am I dreaming? I don't want to know, not while you are here, not while I feel your warmth on my side. I hold you closer to me. I can't avoid doing it. You are not leaving, this time you are not leaving. Why? No, don't answer, let me go on and dream a bit, can you? You look so small, snuggled up to me. It matters a little that you are taller than me. I put my head against yours. My blue hair intertwines a bit with yours. A blue lock, with a black lock, one blue and one black. It almost seems like they are holding hands. How much I would like to hold your hand for real. Do like our hair, first one of my fingers, then one of yours, then one of mine and then one of yours, one of mine then one of yours, one of mine and one of yours. I would like to know what it feels like to walk hand in hand with you. To be who I am, with you. I would take you anywhere, and I would never let go of your hand. Too bad I cannot take you anywhere and I cannot take your hand. While I'm lost in these thoughts, you take my hand. I feel your fingers softly wrap around my wrist and the back of my hand. I know it's your birthday, but then why does it feel like I'm getting the gift myself? I feel almost like standing up and singing out loud. And I'm doing it, inside of me. I don't dare move my hand a centimeter, too afraid you might change your mind and leave it. Don't leave it. Please. 

Someone warns us that your birthday is a minute away. For a split second, I think you will let go of my hand now. You will have better things to do right now than holding my hand. I feel your other hand coming to keep company to the first one, wrapping mine. Do you want to make me die? From the reflection of the camera I see you smiling. Your dimples must be beautiful. You hold on to me, making yourself smaller and smaller. I didn't know the story of the butterflies in the stomach was true. It tingles everything. I can't help but smile too. I feel happy. And the truth is that I live of these little moments. I'm addicted to them. I feel floating like in a soap bubble. I don't even notice that our hands are no longer touching. I don't even notice that my hand is moving by itself. I caress your ear. You still don't move. If I'm dreaming, don't wake me up, because this is the most beautiful dream in the world. Every end of my body has stopped perceiving, the only thing I feel is the warmth and softness of the lobe of your ear under my fingertips. I slowly touch your neck. I feel your veins throbbing. How I would like to kiss it. My fingers trace the imaginary path, the same path that my mind makes my lips do. From the base up, slowly, back to your ear again. I am intoxicated. But why don't you move? Please don't deceive me, I don't want to deceive myself. I don't want to believe it and then be forced to give it up. I almost preferred it when you pulled back, as always. No it's not true. Or maybe a little. At least, I couldn't start hoping. You must be very happy to celebrate your first birthday since we debuted. If it wasn't today, you would have noticed, as always, and you would have pulled back embarrassed, as always. I wish it could always be your birthday, to be able to be like this. It strikes midnight. It's finally, officially, your birthday. Happy birthday. The little cake is on the table, with the candles on. I can not stop myself, I stick a finger in the cream and run it down your neck. You laugh. You are cute when you laugh. I wish I could always play with you like this. I would even let you dirty my face with cream. In the end, you are as sweet as the cream. I see you leaning forward and blowing out your candles with your eyes closed. Sorry, I made a wish. I know I have no right, but I hold on to anything as long as it comes true. I hope I didn't prevent yours from happening. I would give up all my wishes as long as yours come true. I feel you shake my arm back and forth and look at yourself in the camera to wipe the cream off your neck. You come closer to me again, and let my arm embrace you again. I keep touching your ear. How do I know if this is the dream from before that is going on or my wish that has already come true? I lose myself looking at your profile. I do it often, you know? I love your nose, your lips, and the way your lashes flutter on your cheeks when you open and close your eyes. And that's enough for me. Looking at you, watching over you in silence. Being like this is enough for me. If you are happy, that's enough for me. I can also continue like this forever. I can pretend forever. For you, for our fans. I hope I'm good enough and no one has noticed that the reason I'm so good at acting is because I'm not acting. Usually, it should happen the opposite. Usually, we act in front of the camera and stop when the director says cut. But my world seems to be going upside down. For each cut, my action starts. However, in these few seconds I am free. I am free. If our fans weren't there, if that name wasn't there, I'd be living in an infinite prison. Constantly away from you. I read the comments on the screen. I see them sending wishes to you. The heart counter has exploded since I got close to you. It seems that the closer I get to you, the happier it makes them. I make them happy. We make them happy. Even if it's just a game. Even if I wouldn't really make them happy, if only they knew. So I touch you again, I'm still close to you, I look at you. Yet. I'm sorry, I'm a bad friend. And I'm a liar. I am a liar. I am a liar. But maybe, after all, that's what it is all about. After all, I'm a good idol.