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Man Cho desperately ached for his voice, waiting for the filling feeling of the way the vibrations crept up his throat, warming him to the relaxed tensions in his muscles as he called names and mention his heart. The tones felt harmonic, his voice sounded to him as something that he loves – it was sensible, awkward, yet his own, and he could finally detail himself without the urge of others to watch his every action. Yet his voice would not work anymore, the foreign yet familiar feeling of quietness settled in his chest rose as his actions felt quieter.
He wishes.
Wishes for something he knew well that he was not meant to have.
Kwan Ho made him encouraged, words and affection from her sisterly to himself. He felt easier to lie to himself, to lie to others, expressing his care and attitude towards her with a type of manner one mistakes as romantic love. He loves her, as a sister who would protect him, as a sister who would care, and as a sibling he would treat the way he loves her as.
A near discovery clogged his mind, his chest, anxious and unwavering. It was a steady emotion, one easily identified, attraction to a person he should know best not to love in that way. Sito Lai Sun.
The male was kind, present and helpful, someone Man Cho saw as a hero. He spoke and addressed equally, took patience as a key of interest, and the looks he shared with everyone was respectful. Man Cho respected him, watched him from afar, before he realised he was sharing an emotion stronger than respect. He saw as he tore his heart apart, one step at a time, Lai Sun warming up to his family, claiming him a friend, involving himself so close.
He was so close, Man Cho felt his heart beat fast, running in the cage of his chest as it filled up cavities and cavities of vacant feeling. But he turned, barely grazing him, following the path towards Kwan Ho, holding her hand as they kissed on dates and showed their affection publicly. So Man Cho watched, disguised under the pretence he loved her – romantically, rather than a way a brother may dote on his sister – and felt his heart snap under each pressure of movement, both from his sister being torn away and love making him choose.
Making him stay.
When Kwan Ho left the country, feelings in a knot and family messed, Man Cho felt a part of him relieved. Felt disgusted by that part, yet he knew that he was relieved. A pang of jealousy and concern fled like adrenaline in his veins, noticing the ways Lai Sun would eagerly connect with Kwan Ho, take care of his family, all while being so close yet so far. Man Cho wanted more, wanted to know what it felt like being away from the pressure and under the light lights of requited love, of the lessened jealousy.
So he waited.
He waited as Lai Sun slowly grew less and less attached to the time he normally had saved with Kwan Ho, instead lingering near Man Cho until he was left to be alone himself. Man Cho waited as he saw Lai Sun shift his focus more on to him, rather than the retrieval of his adoptive mother’s memories nor the incoming failures of connection to Kwan Ho. He simply waited, hoping that maybe the feeling would vanish – simply creep away and never settle again.
It felt like the loose sands of deserts, flying as it never settled, wind scooping and blowing at each second, desire to run yet never moving farther than. Man Cho hated it, hated how he waited, how he watched, hated how he loves.
Hated it.
But he saw the changes – slight, aware changes – that Lai Sun adapted, spending time in silence near him, extroverted with conversations when it included him, and the way his eyes would stay more on Man Cho than where they would normally; when caught, he simply smiled nervously and flicked his gaze to the afar space.
Man Cho knew.
He knew because he was like that too. Like that when he began to develop feelings one would not consider platonic.
So he watched, waited, and let himself love even more, because, he knew.
He knew one day, when they were both brave enough, they would be able to love too.
To acknowledge it, to envelope it, to act on it.
To love.