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I saw you, green hair
Beauty mark next to your mouth
The fluorescent hum of the I-LAND lobby felt like a countdown. When Heeseung stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted instantly, thickening with the heavy, stifling scent of respect the type that made your stomach churn.
One by one, the trainees scrambled like dominoes bowing, retreating, clearing a path for the ace the man who had come to collect his members.
Except for him.
Right in the middle sat a boy who didn't seem to know the script. He didn't stand. He didn't shrink. He just tilted his head, his eyes tracing the line of Heeseung’s jaw with a terrifyingly soft curiosity.
Heeseung froze. It wasn't the amber eyes hair that stopped his breath though it was vibrant, a defiant splash of color against the cold, sterile concrete. It was the beauty mark. A tiny, dark constellation perched right at the corner of the boy’s lips, pulling Heeseung’s gaze like a gravity well.
The boy, Sunoo, didn't offer a bow not like the rest he was tugged at by his fellow seatmate to stand and only then did he rise.
He offered a smile dimpled, sharp, and laced with a challenge that felt more like an invitation. While the others saw a titan to be feared, Sunoo saw a boy to be known. He looked at Heeseung with fox like eyes that refused to blink, a stubborn spark of life in a place designed to break you down into a machine.
Heeseung felt a crack in his armor. He admired it then that unwavering, beautiful defiance.
There on the subway
I nearly had a breakdown
The trophy in Heeseung’s hand felt like a shard of ice.
It was heavy, gold, and supposedly the pinnacle of everything he had sacrificed for, yet it offered no warmth.
Standing on that stage alone, the silence between his sentences felt like a canyon. He had thanked the fans, his voice steady while his soul felt frayed, his eyes desperately searching the sea of faces for the only six people who truly knew the weight of his breath.
When he looked at them, the world seemed to tilt.
Jay’s face was a marble mask, his applause rhythmic and hollow. Jake’s gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, his shoulders tight. Ni-ki and Sunghoon clapped with a devastating formality, their hands barely meeting, a performance of politeness that hurt more than a physical blow.
They were strangers, strangers with memories.
But then, there was Sunoo.
Theres a word in korean, In-Yun.
It's a word used for fate about relationships.
Sunoo didn't stand.
While the stadium roared and the industry bowed, Sunoo remained anchored to his seat. But this time, the challenge was gone.
The fox eyes that had once looked at Heeseung with a fiery, stubborn defiance were now wide and glassy, overflowing with a terrifying, pure awe. He clapped so hard his palms must have burned, a lonely rhythm of devotion amidst the coldness of the others. Heeseung stared back, his heart stuttering, and blew a kiss to the crowd a lie told to thousands, meant only for the one boy who still looked at him like he was human.
A few hours later.
The air left the room when the presenter’s voice cracked through the speakers, "Album of the Year... ENHYPEN."
The stadium didn't just cheer, it erupted, a wave of sound that made Heeseung’s vision blur. He watched as the six of them rose as one.
He watched Jay and Sunghoon crumble into each other's arms, the weight of the year finally breaking their composure. He watched Jake and Ni-ki tether them to the earth, their hands steady on shaking backs. He watched Jungwon, his leader their leader sobbing into his hands as they ascended the stairs.
That was his name. That was his family.
As Jungwon reached for the microphone, his voice a fractured whisper of gratitude, Heeseung felt a physical sickness coil in his gut.
He looked up, and through the chaos of strobe lights and falling confetti, he found Sunoo again.
Sunoo was holding a weeping Jungwon, but his eyes were locked on Heeseung. They weren't challenging anymore. They were wet, shimmering with a grief so profound it felt like a funeral. In that look, Sunoo wasn't celebrating a win, he was mourning the empty space on the stage where Heeseung was supposed to be standing.
Heeseung couldn't breathe.
The walls were closing in, the cheers sounding like screams.
Without a word, he set his award on the velvet chair a piece of cold metal left in the dark and stumbled towards the exit.
A few weeks later
Somebody wore your perfume
The air in the HYBE meeting room was vibrating with the chatter of brand identity and market trajectory.
The director, a young woman with a sharp suit and sharper focus, laid out the roadmap for Heeseung’s second solo album. Heeseung nodded when he was supposed to, his eyes fixed on the condensation pooling around his black espresso.
Then, the assistant placed a second cup down.
The scent hit him before he even saw the label. It was a thick, sweetness peppermint sharp enough to sting and the cloying richness of cocoa. Mint Chocolate. Heeseung flinched as if he’d been struck. The director paused, her hand frozen on her latte. "Everything all right, Heeseung nim?"
He couldn't answer.
The smell was horrible.
It was the scent of a boy who used to press a warm cup against Heeseung's cheek just to see him jump. It was the flavor of a shared life.
It almost killed me
I had to leave the room
"Yes—yes, I... do you mind a few seconds? A break?" He didn't wait for her confused shrug. He stumbled out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him like a guillotine.
He ran. He hit the hallway the same polished floor where he once raced Jungwon, where he’d leaned against the wall whispering complaints about the company with Jake, where Sunghoon’s laughter used to echo.
But the mint chocolate followed him grasping at him with their soft pale hands.
It clung to the back of his throat.
Heeseung slumped to the floor, his spine hitting the cold glass of the corridor. He buried his face in his hands, and suddenly, he wasn't a world class soloist. He was back in that sweltering practice room during their first debut week, the mirrors fogged with their shared breath.
"Why are you even still here?" Heeseung’s younger voice echoed in his mind, sharp and ugly.
He remembered staring down at Sunoo, who was sitting on the floor with a half finished mint choco latte tucked near his feet. Heeseung had been spiraling, his muscles screaming, his mind fractured by the pressure of being the Ace.
"I have much more to prove!" Heeseung had screamed, his voice trembling with a terrifying fragility. "You wouldn't get it! You’re the global vote! You don't know what it's like to have your entire identity tied to a score! Who am I without my talent? I'm nothing! You’ll never know how that feels!"
The words had been poison. He had meant to hurt Sunoo, to push him away so he could suffer in peace. He had waited for Sunoo to cry, to leave, to finally stand up and walk away like he hadn't done on that first day.
Instead, he felt a shift in the air. Sunoo had slid across the floor, his shoulder bumping into Heeseung’s. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Heeseung’s shaking frame, anchoring him. Heeseung had continued to sob, the word vomit turning into broken, hiccuping gasps of self hatred, but the grip around him never loosened.
Heeseung had finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot, Sunoo just leaned his head against Heeseung’s shoulder.
"I'm still here, hyung," Sunoo had whispered.
"Why?" Heeseung had choked out.
Sunoo had just smiled, that small, dimpled, stubborn smile that tasted of peppermint and kindness.
"I don't know. I’m a fool, I guess."
It's just another day
The studio was the only place where the silence didn't feel like an insult.
Here, the air was thick with the hum of processors and the soft, rhythmic blink of the soundboard a heartbeat that didn't require Heeseung to give anything back.
He adjusted a frequency, layered a synth, and stripped away a vocal track until the sound was as hollow as the ache in his chest.
Music was a loyal companion, it didn't ask for anything.
It just sat there, waiting to be molded waiting to show what he could not say.
Heeseung leaned back in the swivel chair, the leather creaking in the quiet room. He stared at the sound waves dancing across the monitor jagged green lines that represented his life’s work. He wasn't delusional. He knew exactly what he had done. He had built this fortress of sound stone by stone, isolating himself until the only voices he heard were the ones he recorded.
He had no desire to be understood anymore. Understanding required vulnerability, and vulnerability had led to a boy who stayed because he feared what he would be without Heeseung.
Heeseung had left because he feared what he was becoming with him.
He didn't want to be admired, the trophies at home were already gathering dust, gold plated reminders of the people he’d left behind. He certainly didn't want to be pitied.
Heeseung closed his eyes, his fingers hovering over the Delete key for a moment before moving back to the mixer.
He didn't even want to be known. To be known was to be perceived, and to be perceived was to be missed.
But as he hit Play on the loop he’d been working on, a stray frequency hummed a high, sharp note that sounded almost like a laugh. A fox like, dimpled laugh.
Heeseung didn't flinch this time. He just turned the volume up until the sound drowned out the memory, burying himself deeper into the only world where he was still in control. It was just another day. And if he worked hard enough, maybe tomorrow would be exactly the same.
And It's not over, 'til it's over
It's never over
He stared at the sound waves, the cruelest truth of his solitude, you don't always lose things because you’re careless. Sometimes, you lose them because you knew exactly what they were worth, and you were too terrified to pay the price.
Heeseung closed his eyes, and the sterile studio air vanished. Suddenly, he was back in the dim light of a dorm room that smelled like laundry and Sunghoon's socks.
He remembered the weight of Sunoo’s arms around his neck, a tether kissing Sunoo hadn't been like any normal kiss no, it was a slow, agonizing undoing. He remembered the way he’d deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the familiar path, and that sharp, tiny gasp Sunoo would make a sound of surprise, as if he couldn't believe Heeseung was still choosing him.
He had held Sunoo’s face like a holy relic, his thumbs brushing those high cheekbones, pushing him closer until there was no air left between them.
"You kiss like you’re starving," Sunoo had whispered, his breath hot and ragged against Heeseung’s lips.
Heeseung had pulled back just enough to see them those fox eyes, amber flecked with gold, wide and searching. "Maybe I am," Heeseung had murmured, a confession he wasn't ready to name.
But the softness had shifted. Sunoo’s smile had wilted into a tired, heavy sigh, a look of profound exhaustion crossing his features even as he stayed in Heeseung’s arms.
"Why do you look so sad?" Heeseung had asked, his heart tightening.
Sunoo’s voice was barely a breath. "Because you speak to me in words, and I look at you with feelings."
The rejection of that moment had stung. Heeseung had felt the familiar walls go up, his grip loosening as he leaned back. "Come on, I can't have this conversation with you, Sunoo. You never have ideas... only feelings."
Sunoo had flinched, a small, violent motion that Heeseung wished he could take back. "That’s not true," Sunoo had insisted, his voice trembling. "There are ideas inside feelings."
Heeseung had sighed, reaching out to brush a stray hair from Sunoo’s forehead, trying to bridge the gap he’d just created. "Okay. Let’s try. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do the same. Go on. You start."
Sunoo had leaned into the touch, his face nuzzling Heeseung’s palm, a small, fragile smile returning. "I want flowers," he had laughed softly, the sound breaking Heeseung’s heart. "The blue of the sky... music... I don't know. Everything."
Heeseung had stared at him, "Your turn," Sunoo prompted, resting his head on Heeseung’s shoulder.
"I want ambition," Heeseung had said, his voice hard. "Hope. The way things move. Accidents. I want... everything, too."
Heeseung opened his eyes.
As he looked around the empty studio, if you walk into a room and notice whats is missing, the ghost of it is still there, isn't it?
Hist first song that hadn't been about sunoo was still about him it was still a way of talking to a boy who wasn't there to listen.
I don't look for you on the staircase
Or wish you thought that we were still soulmates
The air in the practice room was heavy, not just with the sweat of a six member choreography, but with the phantom weight of a seventh shadow.
Sunoo sat on the polished floor, his chest heaving. He watched Ni-ki and Jungwon bolt towards the staircase, their laughter echoing in the stairwell as they ran to prank Jay.
Sunghoon stood up, his face hardening into that icy frost he used when the grief got too loud to manage. He didn't look at the empty space where Heeseung used to pant for breath. He couldn't. "I’ll be upstairs," Sunghoon said, his voice clipped with a suppressed, sharpened anger. "Don’t stay too long."
Then, it was just Sunoo and Jake.
The silence broke. Sunoo crumbled, his forehead hitting his knees as the first sob ripped through him. Jake was there instantly. Jake, who had been his anchor since before the world knew their names.
"Hyung, I still love him. Why?" Sunoo choked out, his fingers clawing at Jake’s practice shirt. "Why do I still need him? Tell me why."
Jake held him, his touch steady even as his own world felt like it was tilting. He stroked Sunoo’s hair, his voice a low, melodic ache. "If we have reasons for loving someone, Sunoo... then we never really loved them."
Sunoo recoiled, his tear streaked face snapping up. "I'm sorry, hyung. I'm so sorry." He realized, with a jolt of guilt, that he wasn't the only one bleeding. Heeseung had been Jakes as well he had belonged to Jake had been loved by Jake just as much. In his own drowning, Sunoo had forgotten that Jake was underwater, too.
Jake offered a small, devastating smile. "It’s okay. I know you meant well."
They sat there, huddled together against the vast, mirrored emptiness of the studio.
"I hate this," Sunoo whispered, his voice raspy and thin. "I hate feeling grief. Why is it the price we have to pay for love? Why can’t I just forget those six years? I want him back. I miss him so much, hyung."
Jake, the man who hadn't shed a tear when they stood on the MAMA stage in 2025 .
His voice came out choked, a jagged sound that made Sunoo peer up in shock.
"Sometimes," Jake said, his thumb trembling as he wiped a stray tear from Sunoo’s cheek, "grief is the hand that wipes our tears away. It reminds us that what we had was real." He swallowed hard, his eyes glassy and dark. "And sometimes... it’s the hand around our throats. Or the hand that pushes everyone else away until there's no one left to hold."
But I'm still counting down all of the days
'Til you're just another girl on the subway
The manager’s office was quiet, save for the frantic tapping of keys as the editor was reached. Heeseung sat motionless, his eyes burned into the draft on the tablet screen.
“...and as Heeseung was a member of a previous boy group he knew the industry prior to his album rel-...”
The word "was" made him stop.
"Replace it," Heeseung whispered, his voice cutting through the manager’s confusion. "With 'used to be'."
The manager paused, a phone pressed to his ear. "Heeseung nim, it’s a minor grammatical choice. Does it really—"
"I will pull the entire feature," Heeseung said, his gaze leveling. "If it is not changed, I refuse the article."
As the manager hurried to comply, Heeseung leaned back, the leather of the chair suddenly feeling like the suffocating silence of his old dorm room. He was back in the doorway, watching Sunoo pack a bag with trembling hands.
They had been screaming. The air had been thick with the heat of a bridge being burned. Heeseung had shouted it the word that was supposed to end the pain. "Whatever was between us is over, Sunoo!"
Sunoo had frozen. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a hollow, terrifying clarity.
"Was?" Sunoo whispered. "Between us? Not... what used to be between us?"
Heeseung had scoffed, his adrenaline still surging. "Is there a difference? You're arguing grammar now?"
Sunoo began gathering his things, his movements jerky and mechanical. "There is a difference. A huge difference."
Heeseung reached out, his fingers brushing Sunoo’s wrist to stop him, but Sunoo flung his hand away as if the touch burned.
" 'Used to be' means there was a sense of loss," Sunoo said, his voice dropping to a jagged, broken rasp. "It means you acknowledge that something beautiful lived there once, and now it’s gone. But 'was'? 'Was' is just a fact. It’s a dead thing. You’re talking about me like I’m a piece of old furniture you threw out."
He straightened up, clutching his bag to his chest, his fox eyes glassy and sharp.
"I am not a loss to you, Heeseung. I am a stepping stone. You’ve already reached the next level, haven’t you? You don’t need the stone anymore." Sunoo walked toward the door, stopping only to look back one last time. "Thank you, Lee Heeseung. Thank you... to who you used to be."
The door had clicked shut then, and it had stayed shut for years.
Now, Heeseung stared at the updated draft. The text now read: "...who used to be a member..."
It was a small victory, a tiny, pathetic bridge built out of three words. Heeseung knew he was counting down the days until the name ENHYPEN felt like a stranger's name on a passing train. He was waiting for the day when seeing a flash of blonde hair or hearing a certain laugh wouldn't make his heart stall in his chest.
But as he looked at the corrected sentence, he realized he wasn't counting down to forget. He was counting down because "used to be" was the only way he could keep the loss alive.
He wanted the ache.
He wanted the proof that he had once been more than just a soloist that he had once been a boy who was loved by someone who saw the ideas inside his feelings.
Made you the villain, evil for just moving on
I see your shadow, see it even with the lights off
The day of the announcment was well it was hard.
The glow of the screens was the only light in two separate rooms, but it felt like a scorching sun. Both of them were drowning in a sea of opinions from people who had never seen them breathe, never seen them bleed, and certainly never seen them hold each other.
Sunoo’s eyes were swollen, the salt of his tears stinging the corners of his vision as he scrolled. The comments were horrible.
Selfish.
Cold hearted.
He was always just using them for a platform.
Sunoo wanted to scream into the void.
His hyung wasn't a villain.
His hyung was the boy who stayed up until 4:00 AM helping Ni-ki hit a note that wouldn't crack. He was the one who whispered to Jungwon in the dark of the dorm, “You’re doing a good job, Leader,” when the weight felt too heavy. He was the one who held Sunghoon during the panic attacks, who made ramen with Jake in a comfortable silence, had held Jay when it got difficult and who shielded Sunoo from the very world that was now tearing him apart.
He wasn't The Ace to Sunoo. He was the boy who still got flustered and blinked like a startled deer, who stuffed his hands into his pockets when he was nervous, and who would burst into a fit of giggles at a stupid, penis joke.
On the other side of the building, the air in Heeseung’s studio was suffocating. He stared at a different kind of poison.
“They’re nothing without him.”
“ENHYPEN will flop by next year.”
“They’re just backup dancers now.”
Heeseung’s grip tightened on his iPad until his knuckles turned white.
These were his brothers.
He saw Ni-ki—the boy who had crossed an ocean at fourteen, trading his childhood for a dance floor, fighting every day against a homesickness he was too proud to name.
He saw Jungwon, the youngest leader in the industry, who had stood tall when everyone predicted his failure.
He saw Jay’s raw passion, Jake’s sacrifice, Sunghoon’s discipline.
And then there was Sunoo.
Oh his Sunoo his only his, those dimples that would assure him those eyes that held awe, competition, wonder when the world held expectation Sunoo had always held anticipation.
The rage boiled over.
With a guttural sob of frustration and guilt, Heeseung threw the iPad across the room. The screen shattered against the wall a web of cracks mirroring the fracture in his own life. The light went out, but the shadows remained. Even in the dark, he could see them and one boy with fox eyes who had once told him that ideas were just feelings in disguise.
I made a promise
If in four months this feeling ain't gone
The air in the apartment was cold, smelling of expensive perfume and the sharp bite of gin. Under the dim, amber wash of the bedside lamp, the woman beneath him was a blurred silhouette of limbs and labored breath. He didn't know her name. He hadn't asked. He only knew that when she turned her head a certain way, the jagged cut of her dark hair shadowed her neck exactly the way Sunoo’s used to.
He moved with a desperate hunger, his body a weapon he was using against his own memory. He was trying to drown the past in the friction of the present, trying to skin himself alive so he wouldn't have to feel the phantom touch of a boy who was no longer his.
But as he pushed forward, the world blurred, and the expensive silk sheets beneath his palms turned into the familiar, lived in cotton of a dorm bed.
Suddenly, he wasn't in a penthouse. He was back in the sweltering dark of a room that smelled like Jay's perfume phase where he brought six bottles and the faint, sweet lingering of peppermint. He remembered the weight of Sunoo beneath him not a stranger, but his entire world.
He remembered the way Sunoo would arch his back, his spine a delicate, shivering line of heat. Sunoo didn't just take him, he welcomed him, his legs wrapping around Heeseung’s waist as if he were trying to pull Heeseung’s very soul into his skin.
"Heeseung... please... faster," Sunoo had gasped, his voice a broken, melodic wreck.
Heeseung remembered the grunt that left his own throat, a sound of raw, unvarnished worship. Sunoo fit him perfectly a lock and a key, a question and a final, breathless answer.
He had moved with a frantic, devoted rhythm, his hands framing Sunoo’s face, his thumbs catching the tears that leaked from the corners of those amber flecked eyes. He had pushed deeper, wanting to reach the very center, wanting to leave a mark that time couldn't erase.
When the end came, it was a shatter. Sunoo had spluttered his name, a desperate, high pitched plea, "Heeseung!"
Heeseung had never heard his name sound like that not on stage, not from fans, not from the members. It sounded like a prayer.
He remembered the aftermath, the flushed, pink nakedness of Sunoo’s body, the smooth, pale column of his neck littered with the dark, blooming bruises of Heeseung’s possessiveness. Sunoo’s hair had been a chaotic mess against the pillow, his breath coming in shallow, sweet hitches as Heeseung collapsed against him, shielding him from the rest of the world.
A sharp, artificial moan from the woman beneath him snapped the thread.
The memory recoiled like a physical blow. Heeseung flinched, his hand clenching into a white knuckled fist against the mattress. The woman’s skin was too cool, her scent was wrong, her voice lacked the jagged, honest vulnerability of the boy who had once been his.
He was fucking a stranger to forget, but the more he moved, the more Sunoo appeared in the gaps. He saw Sunoo’s shadow in the corner of the room, he felt Sunoo’s ghost in the rhythm of his own heartbeat. He was trying to erase a painting with a charcoal smudge, and it wasn't working.
Heeseung gritted his teeth, closing his eyes tight, but even behind his eyelids, the fox eyes were there wide, glassy, and full of that stubborn, beautiful awe.
I'll fuck this city
I'm moving to Saskatchewan
The air in the was thick with the scent of hairspray. This comeback was different it felt like a rebirth.
Sunoo stood at the center of the vanity mirrors, looking less like an idol and more like a myth pulled from a dark, silken tide.
He wore a sheer, Victorian collared blouse made of midnight blue organza that shimmered like oil on water. Over it was a structural corset vest dripping in seed pearls and silver chains that rattled softly with every breath.
His skin was buffed to a moon white pallor, but it was the eyes that caught the light. The stylists had placed a single, crystal water drop at the outer corner of his left eye. It caught the studio strobes, making it look as though a single, precious tear was frozen in time, forever about to fall.
The energy was high, a frantic sort of joy that acted as a shield they type you used to feel when you were too nervous to feel sad.
Jake caught Sunoo by the waist, twirling him around in a dizzying circle.
"Stop! Jake hyung, the chains!" Sunoo protested, though a genuine, bright laugh bubbled out of him.
"You love it," Sunghoon interjected, his own sharp features softened by a rare, relaxed grin.
Ni-ki leaned against a light stand, his eyes tracking the movement with a mischievous glint. "We can all tell. You've been practicing that sad vampire face in the mirror for weeks."
Jungwon clapped his hands sharply, his leadership role settling over him like a second skin. "Focus, guys! Photoshoot in three minutes. Let's make this legendary."
They moved to the set a shallow pool of dark water reflecting the rafters. The teasing continued in the small ways that defined them, Ni-ki flicking water at the back of Sunghoon’s neck, Jake adjusting the fall of Jungwon’s cape with a lingering pat on the shoulder, Sunghoon pretending to trip into Jay just to see him stumble.
Then, the director’s voice cut through.
"Perfect. Get into the wide formation. You're an even number now, so there's no need for a center. Just balance the frame."
The silence that followed wasn't loud, it was heavy the room seemed to have the oxygen sucked out of it.
Jungwon’s smile didn't drop, but it became fixed, a practiced mask.
Jake’s hand, which had been resting on Sunoo’s shoulder, twitched and then fell to his side.
Sunghoon turned his head away, his jaw tightening until a muscle leaped in his cheek.
Ni-ki stared at the dark water, his playful expression flattening into something unreadable and far too old for his face.
Jungwon, ever the anchor, felt the weight of the collapse. He let out a loud, exaggerated huff, breaking the tension with a wry grin. "Great! That means more space for my shoulders. Move over, Sunghoon hyung, you're hogging the light!"
The members let out a jagged, relieved breath, the tension snapping like a frayed wire. Laughter returned, but it was thinner now, a fragile imitation of what it had been moments before.
Except for Sunoo.
Sunoo stayed rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the floor. He watched the reflection of the studio lights in the dark water, thinking about the center of the line. Thinking about the boy who used to stand there, whose shadow used to overlap with his own.
He felt a warm, steady weight on his side. Jay moved in close, silent as always, his presence a grounding force. He didn't say a word he just reached out, his fingers steady as he smoothed the ruffled organza of Sunoo's sleeve, his thumb stroking the back of Sunoo’s hand in a slow, circle.
Sunoo sniffed, the crystal tear on his cheek catching a stray beam of light. Jay leaned in, his shadow eclipsing the cameras for a brief, private second, and pressed a soft, lingering peck to Sunoo’s cheek.
"We're still here," Jay whispered, the words meant only for them. "And we're still moving."
It's just another day
And It's not over 'til it's over
Until it's over
It's just another day
And it's not over 'til it's over
It's never over
Dear bambi,
there are those who will love you, those will find joy in your voice and cherish the music that you make.
To me though I am special I got to have you when you weren't Lee heeseung but when you were that small kid with a huge backpack going into i-land, I got to have you when you were more to me than the world and know the world has you, but I'll always be happy I got you first.
You know they say its a tragedy when a mature mind and a romantic heart is in the same body, but thankfully you had the mature mind I was the stupid one with the romantic heart, at least it means our love isn't a tragedy.
I promise you I really did want it to be you, I prayed for it to be you.
All I can do is hope my absence brings you the peace my love coudnt give you.
With love from the way it used to be,
Kim Sunoo