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It’s getting late. It’s midnight. There’s nothing, Jaewon is alone, there’s no one. He’s walking along the corridor of the empty building: there’s isolation, he’s lonely, there’s solitude.
It’s when he spots an unknown male figure, who’s asleep on the desk, that he stops in the middle of the way. He leans against the jamb, so that he can observe him better, slightly closer, in order to find out who he may be. He recognizes him, it’s B.I the leader, the rapper, the dancer, the choreographer, the composer and the lyricist, whose fame precedes him, even thought he thinks that right now and right here, in this exact instant, he’s just Hanbin the boy. He’s not B.I, he’s Kim Hanbin.
He closes the door, he crosses the threshold and he takes a few steps forward, reaching the table on which some worn sheets of paper have been scattered all around. They’re dirty with stains of coffee, the calligraphy is not very readable, and some sentences have been melted: the love song is still incomplete.
He stares at him, he focuses on his face and he lingers on the shape of his so rosy, so pretty, so fleshy lips, while the music flows through the speakers of the stereo telling the story of a love that is over. The title is "FOOL" by WINNER. A tragic, sorrowful, melancholic sound echoes between the walls of the room, filling it up with such a melodious pain.
He shudders, a gust of wind fades through the room and he's shaken by a series of tremors. He moves to the window, he heads to the balcony and he looks up to the view of the moon shining in the darkness, floating like a bright sphere that spreads pale gleams everywhere. On the world, on the city, even on him.
And then, all of a sudden, it happens. He listens to his footsteps behind him, he senses his eyes on himself, he hears his voice around him. It's him, not B.I, but Hanbin.
He turns to him, he flashes him a smile and he passes him a cigarette that the other puts between his lips, never breaking the visual contact. He clutches the lighter, he can focus on the strip of tobacco that comes out of the cigar and he burns it, lighting it for him. They're facing each other, their breaths mingle together and their hands touch, causing an electric shock in both of them. He moves away, he stands before the balustrade and he observes the starry sky in which there are groups of clouds that create a grayish mass. It's going to rain.
"Will you go back to Japan?" Jaewon asks in an incredibly calm, firm and low voice, glancing over him.
He wishes they could have time.
"Yes" Hanbin replies in an incredibly nervous, shaky and shrill voice, so he glances over him.
There's no time for them.
“When?” it's all Jaewon asks, fearing what the answer may be.
The time for them is never, ever enough.
“Tomorrow” it's all that Hanbin replies, fearing what another question may be.
The time for them will never, ever be enough.
It hurts. It aches. It's painful. If they only have time to get to know each other.
He throws the cigarette butt off the railing that falls down like a corpse. The red and orange fire vanishes into the vastness of the void, being swallowed in a nightmare made of blackness, and the colors disappear.
He turns to him, he puts a hand on his shoulder and he squeezes it, sinking the nails into his skin even through the cloth of the hoodie. It's as if he wants to have him, it's as if he wants to mark him, it's as if he wants to make him his.
He does it. He gives to him and to himself something – anything – to remember, to wait for until the day they meet again, to not to forget. He kisses his cheek sweetly, slowly and gently, sliding down the left corner of his mouth.
“Goodnight” Jaewon wishes him, then he shows his back to him and he leaves.