win loves bright. bright loves win but it isn't in the way win wants him to. win feels pathetic for falling in love with his best friend, but he can't help it.
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this is how win fell in love - slowly but surely. like boiling water in a bowl, little bubbles of affection erupting gradually and slowly dripping out, overflowing. this is how win fell in love - naturally, ungaurdingly. he had no say in the matter, not at all. not when bright made long playlists for him to help him with him insomnia. not when there were fond, hushed whispers of "are you really feeling alright?" under the soft glow of the moon. not when there were late night trips to grocery stores and soft laughs over steaming instant noodles late at night. not when there were a thousand wide smiles and loud taylor swift karaoke sessions during the weekends. not when there were warm hugs and silly debates about what the best icecream flavor is. not when he finally got a taste of it under flashing neon lights, as false and alcohol-drenched as it was. he really didn't stand a chance.
it shone through everything, peeked from everywhere. it lingered in every gaze he threw at bright, every word that slipped past his lips, every accidental brush of their shoulders. what started as a tiny spark in his heart grew and grew, and gradually became a fire, consuming him whole. everything reminded him of bright, every small detail etched into him mind- from the slope of his nose to his coffee order. it filled the spaces between his teeth, lingered beneath his nails, flew through his blood. he yearned for reciprocation, his eyes wistful whenever he gazed at bright, his hands shaking from the longing to just reach out and hold bright's cold hand when they walked side by side.
so when bright pinned him to the wall that night, he hadn't opposed it, instead he had pulled him closer and kissed him harder, desperation clawing its way out from the depths of his heart. "you look so good." bright had said, his breath hitting win's cheek in puffs, cold fingers cupping his cheek. the smell of beer that came along had been almost suffocating, but win had chosen to ignore it. he had a lot he wanted to say as a reply, like hey, look, here are my bones that hold me together. here is my gut that tells me to both run away and pull you closer when you come too close. here is my bloodied heart, it's beating for you. it belongs to you and it's asking you to come closer and hold it in your hands. but none of this had made its way out that night, just a whimper of desperation.
and when bright woke up the next day with absolutely no memory of the makeout session, win didn't understand why he even hoped. when bright kindly made him some tea to help with him headache despite being hungover himself, win felt like screaming, he felt like pulling bright close by the collar and asking him why he always sparked hope in him. it felt like a hand was curled around his neck, tightening its hold slowly, restricting his breathing. but all he could do was be a coward again, mutter out a half-assed 'thank you' and later regret not being grateful. because no matter how hard he hurt because of bright, it wasn't bright's fault. bright was still kind to him, keeping up with all his moodiness, never disregarding his feelings. he was sure that if he told bright about his feelings, bright would just feel guilty.
"the coldest hands have the warmest hearts.", him mother always told him. maybe it was win's fault that he placed his heart in the palm of bright's freezing hand, that he spent half his life loving a free spirit that would never be ready to be tied down. maybe it was his fault for falling too hard, loving too much and going astray. because all they would ever be was friends.
