You Wrote Me a Letter (but I never learned how to read) || Wooyu ||

Ilusion (and what we are)

***

He watched him smiling blithely and sweetly at the nervous fans who squealed every time he beamed at them with his kind grin.

On many occasions, he found himself only trespassing the Cube property in the hopes of spotting the Japanese boy. It's when he became aware of this newfound strange fascination with the young rapper. He had a nice smile, Dalo would give him that. He'd have much more to give though, as upon his primary physical glance of the Japanese boy he realized how the speculations and rumors about him did him very little justice. There was more to Yuto than his face, as much as he silently got drunk off the sight of his smile.

But he can easily tell how at times like these his smile is not genuine.

In fact, Adachi Yuto's veracious smile was rather scarcely encountered. He himself had the dignity of witnessing it a couple of times in secret, in spite of it not being aimed at him. Yuto Adachi would never smile at him. He smiled when he saw a dog running at him in the park a couple of days ago. He smiled when he saw a young boy teaching his little brother how to ride his skateboard, holding onto him so that he wouldn't fall. He smiled when he saw that big sunflower bouquet in the cube cafe a couple of weeks ago.

But most often he smiles when he's around Jung Wooseok.

The tenacious Jung Wooseok.

He grew so precious to Adachi Yuto, didn't he? Dalo's eye twitched involuntarily. He doesn't have to think much why Jung Wooseok has such an effect on the pure Japanese boy.

Jung Wooseok was typical, plain.
A perfect character in a teenage romance book written with no inspiration. Hence what Yuto found intriguing would have been a mystery, if Dalo wasn't as good at reading people as he was.

The answer is nothing. There's nothing in Jung Wooseok that Yuto wouldn't find in any other place, in any other person. Yes, Jung Wooseok was kind, yes, Jung Wooseok was funny, yes, talented, yes, handsome, and not quite as dim-witted as he made himself appear. But candidly, nothing special.

And truthfully, Dalo was well aware that Yuto didn't need special, he needed distraction. A distraction from his intoxicating brain, someone to look at him and look after him and for him to look after.

Yuto by himself is dejected, despondent, woeful.

So then... What would happen if he would separate him from his beloved, addictive distraction?

Dalo was quite intrigued to find out.

***

His eyes caught a glimpse of the shy, elegant sway of Yuto's footsteps and a rush of static ran through his veins. He was wearing his usual beaten-down converse and ripped jeans. On his shoulders fell a loose, oversized hoodie. No jacket. Nothing else to save his marble skin from the ferocious cold.

Oh, how he intrigued the Russian male beyond genesis.

The hesitant way in which he pulled the chair to sit on the opposite side of the table, the shy but obvious effort to seem confident in his dark galaxy eyes. Dalo saw everything at a lumbering pace, every move, every twitch of his hands and trembling feet.

Am I that scary, Yuto Adachi?

A rhetorical question aimed at himself.

Of course he was. He made himself to be.

When the young rapper's question was finally voiced, Dalo's answer came out on impulse. Odd, because he wasn't one to act on impulse. But unwittingly, he was slowly becoming addicted to the Japanese boy's entrancing reactions. He loved his responsiveness. He adored it.