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"They're going to talk about us, aren't they?" Skylar says, flinching as Cirrus presses the cold compress against the bruise on his cheek. "I didn't want this to happen."
Yeon Skylar could be many things, but calm certainly wasn't one of them.
For Baek Cirrus, encountering childhood friends was often more catastrophic than genuinely enjoyable — the teenager would prefer to drink rat poison or lodge a bullet in his brain than to face one of them. Fortunately, his old school was on the other side of town, and Cirrus was paranoid enough to scan every corner of a place before sticking his nose in them, so encounters like this were rare and avoidable.
Unfortunately, probability wasn't on his good side today.
It happened in a convenience store, before the debut of his new home. Skylar was chirpy, with freshly cut hair, chattering about studies and determined to buy something they both liked to eat. It took just a moment of solitude for them to appear — blurry faces, crooked smiles, and oblique glances, spilling nonsense after nonsense —, and Cirrus found himself in a shitty situation. He almost got away unscathed (mostly because he had changed so much that his former classmate was almost convinced he had mistaken him for someone else), but when Skylar called him by name, the pieces fell into place.
The subsequent events were fast and hazy, like a kaleidoscope that wouldn't stop spinning in his head. A misplaced comment ignites a savage wildfire in his lover, and in one moment, they're all talking like normal people, and in the next, there's blood on Skylar's knuckles. The blow doesn't go unnoticed, however; Skylar is outnumbered and retaliated with punches and kicks, but the imminent danger doesn't seem enough to stop him. Like a single drop of ink staining a glass of water, crimson fury swallows Skylar's vision, and he is ready to throw another punch, fuming like a wild animal, every atom in his body screams for violence, and Cirrus has seen that look in his eyes before and—
Cirrus stops him, nevertheless. He holds his fist, saying something that seems muffled and distant in his memories — "I think the store clerk reported the fight, we need to go!" — and they're running. There's a fuzzy outline in his vision, and his lungs are hitching, but Skylar's hand is warm and firm. His grip is warm and firm. He is… warm and firm.
Only when they're safe and sound does Cirrus notice that Skylar is bleeding.
"You think I'm worried about that?! You literally got hurt!" Cirrus ravages, kneading his cheeks with one hand. "You really have no control over your anger! You're so smart, why do you always use your fists so ignorantly?!" he continues his rant and points to the bedside table next to them. "And you even broke your glasses! In half!"
Skylar slaps his hand away. "You didn't even had the courage to say anything at the store, just stood there listening like an idiot."
"I don't fight to lose," Cirrus quirks an eyebrow and makes a few ludic gestures. "It was five against one."
"Coward," he shrugs, and the subject dies.
Cirrus just rolls his eyes and continues trying to do a decent job on his boyfriend's face. There's dry blood in his nostrils, a bruise on his left cheek — that looked like it was one step away from swelling —, and a thin laceration near his chin. With a wad of cotton and antiseptic, Cirrus approaches again. Skylar closes his eyes and tilts his head forward, face twisted in a grimace, as if already anticipating the pain that was about to come.
Cute. So stupidly cute.
Being at the end of adolescence but already having gone through much of puberty, Skylar's face still carried an unmatched boyish charm. Defined jawline, small and upturned nose, prominent ears, and slightly plump lips — just enough for Cirrus to feel how soft they are during a kiss, just enough for him to catch his lower lip with his teeth. Despite some acne marks on his cheek, his skin was good (for someone who never came near any skincare products, at least). He glides the cotton and the air is laced with a sweet, yet metallic scent. Unbeknownst, Cirrus finds himself staring at the bleeding wound near his boyfriend's chin.
Would Skylar be left with any scars? A twisted part of Cirrus hoped so. A thin, pale line just below his lip, a permanent reminder that Skylar was willing to sacrifice himself for love.
Even though Cirrus entertained an incredible amount of gibberish, he felt pretentious just considering that maybe Skylar could love him. Cirrus wasn't worthy of many things, and even though he maintained a confident and lighthearted facade on the outside, he still couldn't understand the root of Skylar's feelings. It's not every day you fall in love with the guy who blackmailed and humiliated you, and even though Cirrus had apologized and compensated for all damage, it's still weird.
Some ominous thing in him predicts that Skylar will leave him one day. What starts as a negative feeling takes shape and grows in his chest, pools up in his lungs and makes him clench his jaw. It's frustrating and despairing — any thought involving Skylar's absence burns his insides, melts his tissues and veins off the bones.
The thing is, Cirrus knows he's not a good person. Sometimes he tries to convince himself that Skylar is also horrible just so they stay on the same level and he feels less guilty about keeping him, but it's not like that. How could those havana-colored eyes, warm hands, and mellow smile do any harm? Half an hour ago, Skylar was wiping the asphalt with his classmates' faces, but what good person doesn't make silly mistakes? Cirrus's heart is full of affection, and from the pedestal where he has placed Skylar, there are no gods or angels that can compare.
He bites his lip. Pulls his hand back. He wants to swallow these thoughts and keep them buried deep down, but his deepest feelings escape his lips like a pervasive oil spill.
“You know…” Cirrus mumbles. “What he said is true.”
Skylar immediately opens his eyes. Cirrus almost gets lost in a haze of mahogany and honey, but manages to keep going.
“I pushed him down the stairs and… I don't have a mom either.” his voice hitches at the end of the sentence, and he hopes Skylar didn't notice. “I—”
“Even if it's true, does it mean he has the right to act like that? Who does he think he is?” Skylar shots back. His hands rummage through the first aid kit as if searching for something. “Whether to hit him or not, what difference does it make? Since it's all going to be a mess anyway, I preferred to beat the crap out of him to end it quickly. That's how these guys learn not to bother you,” he says, taking a band-aid out of the box. He peels the paper off, sticking the adhesive part onto the sterilized cut. “And honestly, you shouldn't be upset about something like this. Who cares about the kind of person you are or what you have to do with others?”
Although straightforward and blunt in his words — typical of Skylar — there's some fondness in their meaning. Cirrus likes that.
“But what about you, Skylar?” he questions, getting up from the couch. “Do you care about who I am?”
Skylar makes a face. “If you killed someone, I swear to God…”
“No,” he snorts, heading towards the kitchen. “Not yet, at least.”
“Idiot,” he says. “But yes, I care who you are, Cirrus. Not who you were. You're good for me now, and that's what matters.”
Cirrus' heart does a stupid thing in his chest. Skylar is so sweet it almost gives Cirrus toothaches. He could say something corny, kiss Skylar on the lips and continue their afternoon as if nothing had happened, but that high-pitched note is grating at Cirrus' ears again. You're not a good person, you're not a good person, you're not a good person, you're not—
Would Skylar still love him knowing he was a dirty person?
“I… liked my teacher when I was in third grade,” the moment he musters up the courage to blurt the words, he turns his back and pretends to grab something from the shelf. “It would have been great if he were my dad, I thought that at least ten thousand times. I wanted to impress this teacher, so I wrote unnecessary letters and flattered him in every class. I followed him a lot, but he didn't mind at all. And he even took good care of me, you know?” he bites his lip. His restless hands open and close the cabinet doors, and in the end Cirrus decides to grab a kettle to boil some water. “He even gave me some extracurricular lessons when I didn't want to go home…”
Cirrus suddenly stops. His fingers are trembling, he's about to fucking cry, and he'd rather die than continue speaking, but he and his own head are on a battlefield now. Everything that's rotten, warped and mutilated in his core seems to be winning, wanting to burst out of him like a tidal wave.
Keep going, Cirrus. You're one step away from destroying everything, and you can't stop now. Show Skylar one more of the hundreds of reasons why you're hard to love. Show Skylar why your father hates you and your mother left you so he can wake up the next day and do the same. Show him how your life is worthless.
Show him.
“One day…” he says. “I went to the library, thinking it was going to be an extracurricular lesson like any other.”
Cirrus had no reason to be nervous.
Sitting on a stool amidst books and shelves, he quietly awaited his teacher's return. All classes ended hours ago, and the only people present were high school students practicing or engaging in club activities. That part of the school was empty and silent, and, most importantly, completely deserted.
It wasn't the first time they had met like this. Cirrus often begged to stay with him during off-hours, and he had asked countless times to sleep over at his house. His pretend father was the best person in the world, and he would numb himself with any dose of cheap affection if it meant it would hurt less. There are children who behave and ask for toys from Santa Claus, but Cirrus behaves and asks — craves, longs, begs — for love.
He was just a child, and he desperately wanted to be loved.
When his tutor returns, Cirrus' face brightens up and he straightens in his chair. His hands are resting on his thighs, and his posture is impeccable.
The teacher smiles at him. Says something about a different lesson and plays with the buttons of his pants. Cups his face with one hand.
The belt buckle hits the ground, and Cirrus is terrified.
"And he made me do it."
Skylar's scowl threatens to burn a crater into Cirrus.
Skylar listened to everything without saying a word, lips scrunched and shoulders tense. Something haunts his eyes. There's a cold, unmerciful darkness that eclipses the sun, devouring all light. Skylar is worried, uncomfortable, and, above all, utterly shocked.
Cirrus enters despair for a split second, and the regret of souring the atmosphere weighs instantaneously. He swallows his tears, straightens his posture and his lips waver into his best smile.
"And then, just hearing his voice made my legs tremble so much that I peed in the middle of the classroom! What a mess!" he rants, trying to sound frustrated and humorous at the same time. Cirrus fails miserably, but what else is new? "I never managed to do an stupid extracurricular activity after that!"
Cirrus's senses are hazy, and his legs feel like jelly, so he figures dropping whatever he was trying to do in the kitchen is best. He plops his body on the couch, staring at a point above Skylar's shoulder. sorry I can't look you in the eyes right now
"And then... someone called my stepmom at the time to come pick me up. And then people spread an absurd amount of rumors." he says. "Even after all these years, I still think it was a shitty experience. But, at the same time, I'm grateful." he lifts his chin and his demeanor is laced with superiority and triumph, as if he could come out on top of any situation. "Thanks to that teacher, I learned to completely hide my personality and my past. I realized I should be flawless, without any defects. But I'm glad I talked to you, I guess."
"Cirrus..." his boyfriend softens his gaze, and Cirrus swears he sees a hint of condolence in his eyes. Please, feel anything but pity for me. Anything but this backhanded compassion, I'm not inferior and I don't deserve special treatment for this shit, don't you dare think I'm a poor soul, don't you—"It wasn't your fault."
The realization slowly dawns on him. Cirrus gradually shrinks in his seat, lower lip quivering and eyes burning, water pooling up on his eyelashes when he blinks.
"Hah, that's not..." his wobbling voice betrays him mid-sentence, and the first tear traces a painful river down his cheek. He wipes them away with rage, pulling the skin back aggressively. "It all happened because I was stupid, I... I chose this path..."
Skylar passes one arm around his ribs and the other behind his head. With one hand, he caresses his back and pulls him closer, and with the other, he entagles his hand in his hair. His face is buried in Skylar's shoulder, and his fingers gently stroke through his locks. It's a hug — or at least an attempt at one. It's clumsy, his shirt smells of cheap fabric softener and Cirrus wishes their bodies were completely pressed together, but... it's a hug.
Cirrus cries. But it doesn't sound human. It's too savage, animalistic, heartbreakingly wounded.
Cirrus allows himself to crumble into Skylar's arms. Cirrus lifts his trembling hands and holds onto him like a lifeline. He's weeping, uttering nonsense after nonsense and soiling his boyfriend's clothes with snot and tears, but he couldn't compose himself even if he wanted to.
It's a pathetic, disgusting scene, and he's unable to believe that such simple words were enough to shatter years and years of play pretend. Skylar tore through the thick layers of pretty wallpaper to settle for the moldy concrete of his personality, to accept all the dirt under his rug, to live in a house that perhaps should have been demolished long ago. Skylar could do so many things with this information — turn his traumas against him, humiliate him for some entertainment, or even make him taste his own medicine with some blackmail.
But no. Skylar is a bastion of trust, affection, and... love. All the examples of love Cirrus knows are cruel and indifferent, and something inside him always believed that was the only type of affection available in the world. Skylar shattered his convictions, melted them down and shaped them into a relationship he never dreamed having.
To love is to come close enough to stab someone, but not do it. Every day, feeling that person's heartbeat against your ear and gladly keeping your knife. Maybe one day Cirrus will think of less violent metaphors to define this feeling confined within his ribs, but for today, the promise that one day he will soften — he's already softening, and as scary as it is, it's liberating — it's enough.
"Have you calmed down?" Skylar's voice is low and sweet in his ear. "We can lay down, if you want."
"I don't know..." he sniffles. Cirrus's breath is still uneasy, but his sob is gradually fading.
"Okay." Skylar plants a long kiss on his temple. "Tell me if you need anything."
"You," he slurs and holds him tighter. "I need you."
"I'm here, Cirrus. I'm here."
Despite the setbacks, the opening was lovely.
With the shadow of a smile gracing his lips, Cirrus viciously scrubs a bit of dry food off the plate and relives the moments with Skylar. After he bawled his eyes out for an hour straight — surely it wasn't that long, but Cirrus has always been an incurably hyperbolic person —, they made instant noodles, watched movies, and made out for the majority of them. Although it was a casual program and very different from what Cirrus imagined, they remained united and talking all the time, and that was the definition of heaven to him.
In the middle of an episode of The Good Place, Skylar almost falls asleep on his shoulder and says he wants to go to bed. Cirrus gladly lets him go, but before joining his boyfriend, he decides to tidy everything up to avoid any preoccupations in the morning. As he places the last damp dish on the rack, he dries his hands on his pants and bolts towards the bedroom.
"Sky, are you asleep already?" he questions, opening the door to the room. "We can—"
He halts mid-sentence when he, indeed, sees his boyfriend completely knocked out. Predictable, albeit slightly disappointing.
Cirrus quietly sits on the edge of the bed.
Skylar is shy and terribly reserved, so displays of affection are saved for special and quiet moments like this one. School, studies, and everyday worries eat up most of their youth, so it's not every day that they can be together with all this privacy. Cirrus thinks it's almost a crime to fall asleep and leave him this needy, alone, and touch-starved, but as soon as he catches a glimpse of Skylar's sleeping face, his anger dissipates completely.
His boy is beautiful. Hair, eyes, nose, lips, body; he wants to look at Skylar until every curve and imperfection is completely etched in his memory, until he can't forget him even if he wants to. Even with his face covered in violence — bruises and cuts barely contained by the band-aid —, every detail of Skylar never ceased to captivate Cirrus.
"Staring is rude." Cirrus body jolts and almost gets ejected off the bed when he hears Skylar's voice. His eyes are barely open, his long lashes letting out a mere sliver of his mahogany irises. "I'm awake, you idiot."
"You almost killed me here," he scolds, dramatically placing his hands over his chest. "Next time, answer me."
"I did. You didn't hear it," he says between yawns, turning to his side. "Come here."
Cirrus kicks off his shoes and gets under the sheets. He is facing Skylar's nape and is a few good inches away from his back. Cirrus waits for some prompt or invitation, but when faced with some awkward silence, he decides to take the lead.
"It's cold," Cirrus murmurs. "Very cold."
"Turn on the heater."
"But I'm already lying down."
"Just get up."
"How cruel..."
"If you want to spoon me, you don't need to make excuses," Skylar says. "Just come here, Cirrus. Jeez."
Cirrus smiles like a child who just bought it's favorite candy. In a beat, he wraps his arm around Skylar's waist and snuggles up, relishing in how warm and cozy his boyfriend is.
"Thank you, Sky," Cirrus says. "For everything."
He hums softly in response. "Feeling better now?"
"I think so. The day was good, and I'm happy with you."
Cirrus can see the curve of his smile. "I'm glad."
"Mm-hm." he pauses for a second. "Do you want to do something tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow is Monday."
"So what?"
"We have classes."
"Fuck classes."
"No," he says. "I have to study. We have to study."
"Let's study together."
"Last week you said the same thing. I did two exercises in the textbook, got distracted by Candy's soft fur, and never looked at it again," Skylar scolds. Although his tone was indignant, he was clearly amused. "Do you know that my moments with you are magical? I arrive at your house in the morning, and poof!, it's already night."
"Was that an attempt at flirting?"
He bites his lip and shrinks back, slightly flustered. "Maybe?"
A rustle of the bedsheets, Cirrus chuckles softly and holds him even tighter. He buries his nose in the mess of his boyfriend's black hair, feeling the recently trimmed patches prickling his skin and lips. Skylar is as thick as it gets, and even though they were far beyond superficial flirting, his counterpart still turned beetroot red with any mildly risky flirtation. In fact, Skylar turns beetroot red with literally anything.
Cirrus loved him so much it hurt. Being close was never enough, and Cirrus found himself in withdrawal even when they were in the same room. It was a hunger that would never be satisfied, no matter how much he relished in his heat, breathed in his scent, or even savored his lips. Would it be too selfish to say he wanted Skylar all to himself?
He gives a quick and loving kiss on his neck. There were no ulterior motives — mostly because Skylar had said numerous times that he wanted to take things slow —, but the boy straight up shudders in his arms.
It's small. An almost imperceptible tremor. But it's enough to cloud Cirrus's thinking and set his blood alight.
"Can I… kiss you again?"
The question comes out impulsive and breathy from his lips, borderline desperate. His boyfriend remains silent, and regret instantly weighs heavy on Cirrus's chest; why did he have to sexualize such a tender and wholesome moment? He thinks about apologizing, kissing Skylar's hair, and sleeping at least half a meter away from him, but the answer comes swift.
"You can." his voice is low and shy, barely audible.
"Are you sure? I don't want—"
"Cirrus." Skylar says his name with a newfound conviction; there's want oozing in every syllable. He shifts under the sheets and turns to face Cirrus. "Kiss me."
They're close. Dangerously close. Their noses almost touch, and Skylar's warm — almost scalding — breath seems to melt the corners of his mouth. The air is thick with tension, lust, and a tint of uncertainty, and Cirrus just wants to burn himself like a candle, melt and spill onto Skylar like it's the only thing he knows how to do. His boyfriend gently cups his cheek, as if giving permission to seal all the promises, as if saying "I want to burn with you too."
Cirrus parts his mouth, breath hitching with anticipation, and presses their lips together in a chaste peck. They rarely kissed with tongue — given that most of their encounters were public, and Skylar was embarrassed when things got more heated —, but this time everything boiled over quickly. There's tongue, there's drool, and there are hands, firmly gripping Skylar's waist, fingers digging into his flesh and marking his skin.
They move fast, almost urgent. In the intervals between kisses, they take brief breaths and meet each other's mouths with desperation and confidence, burning until the last ember and reigniting the spark repeatedly. Arousal simmers in Cirrus' stomach, and he can feel something tightening in his lower abdomen; he's hard, completely hard for Skylar.
"Mhm..!" Skylar softly moans against Cirrus' lips as he moves his hands down and slips his fingers under his shirt. The cold digits make his boyfriend's body tremble, his belly tensing and recoiling. Cirrus goes all the way up and glides his hands down at a tortuous speed. He feels Skylar's nipples under his fingers — which, curiously, perk up with the slightest touch —, the contours of his ribs, and the firmness of his waist. When he reaches the latitude of Skylar's navel, he begins curling and uncurling his fingers, grazing his knuckles across skin and unfurling his hand in featherlight touches.
"Sky, you're so beautiful," he says, and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl that has ever come from his man's lips. Greedy, Cirrus savors every drop of him and interrupts the kiss, grazing his lips along the length of his jaw, nibbing his earlobe, and finally trailing down his face to his neck. Skylar seems to melt and surrender even more, tilting his head to the side, giving Cirrus all the space he needs. He kisses, licks, and even love bites the spot — his boy tastes like paradise, feels like heaven, and is as carnal as any other human.
In a lapse of recklessness, Cirrus's hands risk descending a bit further than they should. His fingers graze along the length of Skylar's erection, and he gives it a firm squeeze.
Skylar's entire body jolts, but this time it's not in a pleasurable way.
"N-no…" he stutters, and Cirrus halts immediately.
Cirrus backs away from his boyfriend, teal-colored eyes briefly analyzing him. Amid disheveled hair and uneven heartbeats, Cirrus's greatest fear permeated the atmosphere.
Skylar was uncomfortable. Not overwhelmingly so, but still; he was red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, eyebrows furrowed in an ugly crease, and he was biting his lip so hard it could bleed at any moment. Somewhere between pleasure and heat, things went awry, and Cirrus feared he had crossed the line long before attempting to grope him.
Cirrus feels animalistic, an irrational being who couldn't control his impulses and ended up ruining a moment that should have been intimate and meaningful for them. It's obvious they wouldn't go all the way, it's obvious Skylar wouldn't feel okay with it. The last thing he wants is for Skylar to feel the way he felt — disrespected, humiliated, violated. Cirrus understands that they're different circumstances, but the root of the feeling is the same, the absence of consent is the same.
Cirrus is afraid of losing him.
"I-I'm sorry Sky, I'm so sorry. I didn't know that—I didn't want you to—" his voice is choked, laden with regret and desperation. He struggles, trying to untangle himself from his boyfriend's body. "I wasn't thinking straight, I—"
"Cirrus, it's okay. Look at me," he cups his face with one hand. His eyes are like the warm amber of a summer twilight, and for a fraction of a second, Cirrus feels soothed. "You stopped when I asked, didn't you? Then you don't need to feel guilty."
Cirrus takes a few moments to process the information. "Are you… okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" a slow, silly smile spreads across Skylar's face. "I was enjoying myself too."
And it's as if the air returns to Cirrus's lungs. He allows himself to relax, and slowly embraces Skylar's body against his own.
"I'm sorry for going too far," Cirrus says in almost a whisper. "I should have known, but…"
"It's okay. If it happened, it's because I allowed it." Skylar assures. "I just think we need time."
"Time?"
"To figure each other out," he scrunches his lips and looks away, visibly embarrassed. "Take things slow. Maybe go a little further each time we do it."
The corners of Cirrus's mouth quirk up. "Yeah, that makes sense."
"Do you feel okay doing this with me?" Skylar asks, a tinge of apprehension glimmering in his eyes. "I mean… You know what I'm talking about."
"Did it seem like I was feeling bad? I almost came untouched, for fuck's sake," he reveals. The laughter that escapes Skylar's throat rips the late night silence, echoing through the hallways and making the mood much more lighter. Cirrus feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but such a silly confession couldn't be worse than the rest of the day. "But seriously. I don't regret anything."
In the tail-end of a fading laugh, the truthfulness of Skylar's words is almost palpable. "Me neither."
They exchange caresses and a few more sweet words, and when Cirrus realizes it, Skylar is fast asleep in his arms. The tiredness of the day must have finally weighed on his boyfriend's shoulders, and it was starting to weigh on Cirrus too.
He carefully rests his head on Skylar's chest, nestling comfortably beside him. His beating heart seemed to beat against his rib cage — the slow, rhythmic thump-thump was organic and otherworldly comforting —, and the warmth of his body radiated against his own. Cirrus thinks he could live like this forever. Would Skylar honor the promise to share the same apartment in college? He hoped so. Sometimes, he wanted to study hard to be as smart as Skylar just so he could get into the same college as him. Simply go wherever he goes, never go through the excruciating pain of his absence.
His eyes are half-lidded when he feels something vibrate on the other side of the bed. Cirrus furrows his brow and pokes around until he finds Skylar's phone. The screen shining with a new notification and he's about to turn it off, but a name catches his attention.
Chan-il: Skylar!!
Chan-il: Hansoo's art exhibition has already been scheduled. Do you want to go with me?
Cirrus stares at the message. There's something bitter and twisted sitting at the back of his brain, and each time he rereads it, that shadow grows. This feeling of dread swallows his vision until he can't see any other color but vivid crimson.
I'm scared, Skylar.
Cirrus picks up the device and scrolls through the messages. Most of them are casual conversations — something about study groups, discussions about tests, and them scheduling hangouts with friends. Nothing seems suspicious (it's obvious there wouldn't be anything inappropriate between them, Chan-il is the straightest guy Cirrus has ever seen in his life), but his anger doesn't dissolve with such simple evidence.
Scared that one day you'll suddenly throw away all the promises you made with me.
Cirrus deletes the last two messages from the contact. When his thumb glides over the trash can icon, he feels a twinge of regret that is soon dissipated by the relief that Skylar won't be alone with Chan-il. What if one day he wakes up and says he's no longer in love? That this relationship was just a way to cope with the fact that Chan-il would never reciprocate? Hair colors and faces may be different, but bodies are the same after all. He could be... using me. this thought makes me want to puke I hate myself for this
I'm out of my mind. How did I survive without you? I can't even remember.
Cirrus' stomach churns. Skylar loves him, right? He just hasn't had the courage to say it yet. There's no way that the moment they shared today could be false. It's impossible for this affection to be yet another invention of his mind. But it's better to be safe than sorry, and Chan-il won't even miss Skylar anyway. Cirrus needs him much more than anyone else. Skylar is his, and only his.
I'll do anything you ask me to do.
He puts the phone on silent mode and in the same position as before, to avoid raising any suspicion or questions. Skylar is still warm under his touch, quietly resonating beside him.
"I love you, Sky," he whispers in his ear, brushing a strand of hair stuck to his forehead. With his heart in his sleeve and tears pooling up in his eyes, he kisses him one last time before falling into a deep slumber. "More than anything in this world."
Just don't tell me to leave.