[ ✓ ] 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 , taewin .

TWO

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❝ you hold me without touch,
you keep me without chains. ❞
— GRAVITY ; SARAH BAREILLES.

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Today, I attend my first party. My first real one, at least.

It's not as if I really want to, or even chose to. But Yuta convinced me enough to the point where I felt as if not going would only ruin the reputation I have to create for myself.

"I'll try and get you a cute boy, Sisi." Yuta shoves me in the arm and gives me a certain look. A look that reads, Dong Sicheng, you're getting laid tonight. But I know it's bullshit. He's truly only saying this to make me feel more comfortable, but in reality, it's making me less comfortable.

We walk inside the house of Mark, and as I step inside, I remember I've been here once. He threw a pool party back in the seventh grade and invited practically every single person he had ever spoken to—him and I weren't the closest. I was shocked he even remembered me at lunch the other day.

"Yuta, you know I don't like when you do that," I scold him, only half joking. He lets out an exasperated sigh. I can tell he's already put off.

"God forbid I ever try to help you." He walks away, leaving me behind, all by myself. This surely isn't the first time Yuta has ditched me at a party full of people I don't know, and people that wouldn't dare speak to a Lonely, Awkward boy such as I.

I look around the house, remembering little moments spent in here. It's hard to reminisce in those moments, for I feel so secluded from every other human on the earth at the moment. My heart starts beating faster and harder as I get shoved around in the sea of people. The smell of alcohol that comes from the breaths of teens as they shout to one another causes my head to ache. In the heat of his utterly uncomfortable moment, I make my way upstairs to escape the chaos.

The upstairs area only has a select few bedrooms to escape to. One is already occupied by a couple having a very intense make-out session, which I can see from the door that they unfortunately left wide-open. Another door is what I assume is the bathroom, for I hear retching of someone throwing up inside.

I take the last room that isn't occupied by anyone. I assume it's Mark's parents' room. There's a king-sized bed in the middle of the room, along with a large vanity and another master bathroom connected to the space. On the opposite side of the room, though, sits a balcony. A nice, big, unoccupied balcony.

I open the door and a gust of cool wind blows over my body. It feels refreshing from the intoxicated atmosphere of the house. My mood seems to calm to a peaceful state, that is until I look to my left, only to find yet another person. Smoking. Something that I assume is mind-altering. Occupying the balcony. I let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry," I awkwardly mumble.

"It's alright," the boy replies. He looks up at me and shoots me a small grin before bringing his pipe back to his mouth. He has big, buggy eyes, and I feel a little out of place when he looks at me. Not in a bad way, though. "Do you want some?"

I sit down across from him, contemplating his question. I take one whiff of the smoke he exhales and shake my head.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks me.

I purse my lips. "Escaping the monsters inside that house. I have a fear of them. All of them."

He chuckles. My heart beats faster.

"You a freshman or something?" he asks. He lights the pipe again. I wince at his comment.

"Actually, I'm a senior," I answer. "However this is my first party. My first one with alcohol and smoking and sex and all that stuff. It's so much scarier than how they depict it in those movies."

He slowly nods as he smiles to himself. I know he wants to laugh, but I don't know if it's because he relates, or because he finds me absolutely ridiculous. Both circumstances wouldn't surprise me at all.

"Can't blame you," he replies after a moment of stillness. I watch him closely as he slowly takes in a hit from the pipe, lets in settle inside him, eventually exhaling a small cloud of smoke. He looks so effortless when doing so. Just him sitting there, breathing, just being, looks so effortless. He has a way of moving—as if through a thick layer of molasses.

I try to think of things to talk about. This guy obviously is accepting my presence.

"What's your name?" I ask him. He grins as he puts out the lit pipe. He packs up his things, getting ready to leave. I feel bad—as if I ruined his night by talking to him.

"The boy you wish you never met."