Opia.

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pâro. n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you, each of them leaning back in their chair and calling out helpfully, “colder, colder, colder…”.

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For a week, things seemed like pulled out of a film. Kim felt as if he was placed upon the highest cloud, in heaven, watching an angel fly around it. The more he thought about it, the less he could believe that it was true, that the boy he had been admiring for so long was now speaking to him daily, was paying attention to his music, to him. Life had seemed pointless until now, yet for a week, Kimmon was able to spot a tiny beam of light in the distance, and he had tried to reach it, stretching as much as his body could manage, his fingers burning at the proximity. He felt as if he was almost there, as if he had almost caught the little light. And as he stared at it from afar, he couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason he had been looking for all of this time. The light hadn't been there before, and now it was.

Was that the angel's work?

Bas had made it his habit to wait for Kimmon outside of the café, everyday except sundays. Every single time, a book was placed before his eyes, and in the cover it would always read the same name. Kimmon hoped, everytime he saw the author, that in some way the choice was related to his opinion on the subject. Another long shot, but a man could dream.

The boy would smile at him, as sickeningly sweetly as honey, and would stare at him with his deep black eyes from under his eyelashes. And every single time that happened, Kimmon would feel as if he had been touched by an angel, the pureness and the magic sneaking inside of him like a snake. And now, dark, gloomy Kimmon, had been hidden behind a thick layer of light.

Kim had never been happier to have someone listening to his songs. He thought he had always got the most out of his performances, yet he had realised, this week, that he had never experienced quite the rush like when he had saw the angel looking and paying attention. Up until now, the only thing that had been showing the boy's interest had been his dancing foot. Yet now, Kim was not only enjoying that, he was also being rewarded with that black stare that made his stomach crawl.

Today was monday again, and Kim was playing, and the angel was watching closely. With every note, Bas' ears appeared to perk up, and everytime, Kimmon's heart would stumble.

No one could blame him for feeling like this, though; there was an angel looking.

The night was dark, as always, and outside the window, Kimmon could see the movement from the leaves and branches hitting the glass. The café was also dark, just like the sky, yet in the farthest place from him, near the door, there was a light. A light who was sitting, and smiling, and looking right at Kim, managing to melt him down like a candle.

The song ended, and the claps came, and Kim fed on it, his spirit pulling itself up highly, his confidence building up like bricks stacking up together. Tonight, the angel clapped as well, and the clenching in his heart didn't go unnoticed.

Tae came to congratulate him again for a good performance, and he thanked him dearly, claiming that he didn't need to do that every week, he had been working here for months already. Tae didn't care, though, he told him he deserved every compliment he got. Sweeling with pride, Kim walked towards Bas, who was pretending to be reading the book in front of him, even if Kim knew already that he was waiting for him.