tell me, how often do you bring innocent boys and girls into your home and do what you did to me?
There’s nothing intimate about what he engages in and in what they do.
He whispers a stranger’s name and it settles against their skin. Breaths soon hitch, bodies dance together and limbs intertwine as if they were not made to do anything but. Skin kisses skin and the contact stays for mere seconds that stretch into minutes prolonged to hours. There are collisions between matter and of course, rhythm and murmured nonsense in between lewd noises that remain trapped between their chests all throughout the midnights under turning galaxies.
A stranger he forgets the name of an hour later places a palm right above his chest. She brushes over his skin like the wind caresses over electric blue clouds during dawn’s sky. She whispers his name right beside his ear, yet his gaze becomes entranced by eyes of the moon who beams through the glass. His thoughts remain detached from the person that he holds against his waist. Something stirs in him and overtakes his thoughts; everything becomes an unimportant blur banished into distant recesses of his mind. He is attracted to the moon, because he knows he is just as empty as the moon is overruling her night.
There are canyons separating him and the rest – and a simple surrender of someone else’s body was not enough to fill the vast, fallow cracks spaced in between his handcrafted mountains of bare nothing.
So he does not think anything different of his body either. He is all the same, composed of the same organs and of the same matter. Placed in the same organization, with the only differences kept in letters of a code embedded in every inch of his body.
So he does not understand why if he is all the same as the rest – why there is suddenly no exchange of spark between him and the celestial being in the midnight skies. The moon does not spare him a glance no longer. She purses her lips and the stars come around her while he fumbles to reach an explanation. He only finds it in the small of Sehun’s back, and in the way his hands make home on his restless hips while bringing him as close as physics possibly allows him. He finds the answer between the teasing skinny touches. He scopes out the truth in the way Sehun’s body fills up the spaces where he is hollow.
He listens to the moon that whispers to him as he lies against matted, ruffled sheets and besides one, slumbering boy.
My dear, you are no longer empty. Do not look for me no longer.
