"We see our world fair and common, the hoarding and the pit. By our daylight standard he walked out of security into darkness, danger, and death.

But did he see it like that?"

Back in elementary school Youngjae had come across a short story of H.G Wells', The Door in the Wall. It had only struck him as a parable back then but the obsession with this fallacy grew on him as he matured. And so grew 'the dear sense of unforgettable and still attainable things.' Youngjae had always suffered from inappeasable regret after reading that one story. He always knew he had relentlessly missed that door in the garden several times in life as it offered its recluse and dreamy happiness to the boy - sometimes becuase of worldy lures but largely because of his unspeakable cowardice and passive servility to his family. Singing meant more to him than just an outlet for his musical genius or expression of his individuality but it encompassed his whole spectrum of dreams - warm dreams full of felicity and euphoria. 

Pleasures he had known little of. Growing up he was a secluded child, not because he was socially misfit or apathetic in any sense but because he was always preoccupied, entrapped in the little sunshines and rainbows his childish mind could muster. These imaginative impulses shifted to graver effigies in his mind as realities made their way into his sensitive faculties. However, the boy was enriched with a natural disposition of all that was positivity and favorableness. It was hard, let alone impossible, to ever take the guy as anything more than absolute sunshine though he had his natural bouts of unavoidable depression. Jackson had ample testimony of this disposition of his that extended an air of wellness, warmth and comfort to him and others. This was the only reason why the most popular kid in middle-school (enrolled in the foreign exchange programme) had befriended the lonesome young master Choi. Seuni, that's the nickname Jackson was commonly referred to, started calling him Twae after Youngjae mispronounced his surname on thier first meeting. The first time Jackson had managed to get the boy drunk on his 18th birthday, Youngjae had gone a little delirious and berserk and had audibly lamented for a door in the wall all the while howling his eyes out. Unable to grasp the symbolic implications of his lamentations and to pacify the crying baby in front of him, Jackson had pressed his lips to the boy's, shocking himself on how good he had felt. With long intervals to let the boy catch his breath and muffle his sobs, Jackson had continued lightly and assuringly to kiss the boy untill the other, with all guards now down, had placed himself comfortably in his arms and had fallen asleep there. Jackson had later confessed to Youngjae that the kiss had helped in revealing his uality to him, though he always cared for the younger as an older brother, he couldn't help sometimes to slip into thoughts of caressing him and kissing him, which that particular night had explicated to him. Jackson was a trainee at the time, and being constantly grouped with a bunch of handsome guys had weighed on him but after his determining intimate interaction with Youngjae, confusion perished and things settled down with him. He never asked Youngjae to reciprocate and neither the other had any intentions to do. So Youngjae almost never alluded to the incident, except for occasional teasings. Like everytime Jackson got himself a fair partner, Youngjae would teasingly ask if he wasn't a better choice. To Jackson's surprise Youngjae was very cool and calm post the kissing incident. He concluded, the guy was straight. Youngjae, though surprisingly, never asked himself that question. Already a late bloomer, Youngjae had come to terms with being unmindful of his orientation. He supposed whatever worked out for him in the long run would be acceptable to him. He was never the let-me-go-and-search-for-love kinda guy to begin with. Whatever was meant for him would come his way sooner or later. He was too depressed with the other fact that singing was not meant for him. 

Harsh wind blew over his tear smitten face and he recolied with a convulsive shiver. The noise coming from the party was alomst inaudible to that part of the garden where they had come. Youngjae could feel his jaw relax and the lump in his throat disappear as he takes in a deep breath. The air he lets out shakes bitterly and only after the third exhalation does it even out. His second cold spasm is prevented from happening as a large overcoat is placed on his shoulders. Only then does Youngjae realize he isn't alone. Looking up at this person, his savior from utter embarassment and unnecessary concern from a facade of an audience, he is struck by the aquiline features of a man illuminated by the soft lunar light, dark black orbs absorbed in him, wearing an expression he couldn't decipher - whatever it was it was unspeakably genuine. 

'Jaebum-shi?' Youngjae said the next moment he could recognize him. Stunned Jaebum was not only surprised at the call but disappointed as well. Surprised at how the other knew him and disappointed at the thought that if they were hitherto acquainted how could he ever forget a person like him. Youngjae commenced noticing the query in the elder's eyes, ' I wasn't made aware Got6 were invited as well'. After a momentary pause, voice still shaky, 'Thank-you!' Only then Jaebum realized his celebrity status, though he wasn't sure whether to be happy about it or not. It meant that the younger would most likely see him as the people's JB or Defsoul, and not for the person he was - his inner essence, the thoughts that passed him in his secluded hours of reflection, the feelings which overcame him when he wandered on his climbing trails. He was suddenly struck with the longing to hold the boy in front of him in his arms, and spend the whole night telling him of his life's recollections and hearing every single detail the boy had to offer - why was he so burdened, why was his voice so rich with the malice of life, why was he strarting to have so much power over him, how in the world could he transfix him so with his songs? Only if Jaebum could see what face he was projecting at that very moment - a mixture of yearning, joy, sadness, and warmth. No one had looked at Youngjae this intently and so absently at the same time before. He couldn't help allow a faint crimson from appearing on his face and specially his ears went hot red. It was embarassing enough that someone would see this mess of him but then look at him with all his being, Youngjae was never more lost. 

OK so Jackson couldn't hold himself from witnessing the tension between them and see what he could only interpret as his leadernim falling hopelessly in love, he interrupted the glare contest. He had followed them shortly after their escapade, leaving Mark to entertain his friends for the meantime. He had been standing some short distance from them for a good five minutes to understand the situation at hand. 'Youngjae!' he approaches the standing party, voice now mellow and not his usual shrill one, drawing near his friend and sort of ignoring Jaebum he cups the younger's face in his hands and wiping away the tears smeared all over his face, he presses their foreheads together. This was the gesture both of them did to one another when they wanted to comfort themselves. It always worked with the two of them, both of them already highly comfortable with one another's presence. Jaebum should've seen his face this time around specially (the iconic angry chin emerging). After a while Jackson lets go and a soft smile settles on both their faces. 'Why don't you go back to your hotel and get some rest. I told my manager to drop you there on my way here. He is waiting by the exit. Call me before you go to sleep and I'll listen to all you have to say. Get some rest for now' Jackson said it, all the while firmly pressing Youngjae's shoulders and guiding him towards the exit. Youngjae stopped for a second midway and bowed politely to Jaebum before taking his leave . . . he needed his alone time now more than ever, he couldn't wait to get back to his hotel room. Jackson was all the push he needed. 

Arriving at his hotel room, warm and luxurious, he spread opened his curtains without ever turning on the lights. The moonlight flooded in and softly caressed his creamy yet weary contours. Sitting on the canape bordered along the huge windows from where the moonlight ushered in, his face inclined towards them, he sang-whispered Li Bai's verses from Quiet Night Thought:

"Moonlight spills onto my bed

I wonder if it's frost on the ground

Looking up, I find the moon bright

Then bowing my head, as I drown in homesickness."

After a while he passes out, beaded shimmers hung on his lashes under the pool of moonlight.