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Jisung wakes up alone in bed, tucked under a loose blanket and the sound of heavy rain pouring down outside his window. The sky is grey, cloudy, and the sun is not beating up on his skin like the days before. A feeling of solitude which wasn't there before now makes room with him in the bed, and he loathes it. He feels it crawling under the sheets and sliding its way next to him, hugging him from behind and wrapping him in its arms. He wishes he could push it away and ignore its presence, but even though he tries, he fails. The day is sad, unceasingly weeping. And so is Jisung.
He hugs himself comfortingly, wrapping his arms around his chest and turning around, facing his open bedroom door, afraid to face the other side of the bed. He knows it is empty, but now that emptiness engulfs him, and he knows it is meant to stay. His side of the bed is so cold without his warmth. He knows the pillow still smells like Felix, it is impregnated in those four walls that now seem like a prison, holding him hostage and he is a prisoner of a love that didn't turn out; of a love that simply wasn't meant to be. Despite it all, he is happy—maybe being a prisoner isn't so dreadful, because he had his freedom. All that is left, is guilt. Remorse. Memories.
Jisung doesn't want to get up and face a new day; because getting up means moving on, and he knows it won't be that easy to forget Felix—to delete him from his thoughts, dreams, memories, from everything that surrounds him and everything that he is today—, to accept he is truly gone. But he walked out of the room, and thus, out of his life. It hurt to even look at what they could have been, so Jisung closes his eyes, listening to the outside rain; as if somehow those are the tears he can't seem to cry himself. The pain is just too much to bare, and a crooked smile rises through the excruciating pain, trying to convince himself he is fine, that he will get out of this heartbreak alive—he wants to believe this so badly, to fool himself into pretending he is all right, when he is not. He will have to glue its pieces back together and hope his heart regains its life and love. Maybe he is too naive, too gullible. Maybe the pain blinds him.
Their love is still hanging in the air, lingering in the atmosphere, and Jisung still breathes it in and out like his life depends on it, grasping every single inch of it and making it a part of himself, trying to keep it inside for as long as he can: the leftovers.
I let my melodic hum fill the silence between us, and expand to the four walls that surround us, these four walls that keep our love safe and prevents it from sneaking away. My arms are wrapped around Felix, and we are stargazing, twinkling stars welcoming us into the cloudless, starry night. He is so warm, I can hear his heart beating at the same time as mine, and feel his chest going up and down gently against the right side of my ribs. I stroke his hair, playfully running my fingers through his golden locks, nuzzling his hair softly.
"Don't stop," he whispers once I'm done humming—but sounds more like a plea—, his eyes still fixed on the window. I let myself be absorbed by this sole moment. We have cuddled a thousand times before but what makes this one so special—so delicate and sweet and affectionate—is that it is the last one. It's a bittersweet feeling. The end is approaching, and we refuse to allow the sorrow of our parting break the warmth of our embrace. There is still love in this room. There is still hope somewhere inside of me, striving to remain untouched and pristine—if only the cruelty of time could keep its hands away from it…
Jisung tosses and turns in bed, trying to make himself fall asleep again; the memories of the night before keep coming to him like a slap to the face, like a promise he broke and its guilt remains to haunt him. He violently shuts his eyes, but all he can picture is Felix, his hair brushed by the wind, his freckles twinkling more intensively than the stars outside his room, glowing in the dark, smiling broadly, his lips curved from ear to ear. And he is still in his arms, he can feel his warmth all over his skin.
He has never been good with emotions, describing or understanding what he feels, how he feels but he is absolutely certain that he has never been so vulnerable, miserable and broken and wretched before like he is right now. The piercing pain of breakup that burns under his skin and runs through his veins perish him, drowning his desperate cries for help.
"I don't want tomorrow to ever come," I confess, freeing a deep sigh and closing my eyes, focusing on my breathing and listening to the quietness of it all. I don't even want to see Felix's reaction, though I know he agrees.
"Me neither," he says, and I can sense some disappointment in his tone; some undeniable sadness. "But it's inevitable. Tomorrow will come and sweep these moments away and all we'll have of each other are memories."
"I wish it wouldn't be that way. I wish we could freeze this moment, right here and now, and live in it forever."
"I wish I could always be with you," he says, tightening his arms around me, and I nod. I peck him on the forehead. He smiles, but happiness doesn't hide behind it; melancholy does.
But in truth, I'm scared; I'm scared the memories won't be enough to keep him close to me, and at the same time I'm scared the memories will be enough to keep me from moving on.
"Why did it have to be this way?" he asks, but I don't answer; it's rhetorical. He lets it linger in the silence between us. We both know there is no reason life was too cruel to cast such a curse on us.
"Don't be sad," I say, a smile slipping out of my lips. I straighten up, and Felix sits on the bed as well, looking at me, his eyes crystalized and red, tired. "It's our last night together. Don't let it be a sad one," I say, picking up my phone and scrolling down the thousands of songs I have until I find the one I'm searching for. Felix gasps, and I giggle, pleased, listening to our song blast through the speakers. We lay down again, smile on our faces. Maybe the music will help to calm down the unceasing and unpleasant voices in my head.
Jisung now breaks down into tears, wiping them away, unbottling the anger and frustration and disappointment and confusion and rejection he feels, the vast emptiness and yearn he now has in his heart. He picks up his phone, wanting to phone Felix and talk to him—hear his raspy, sleepy voice once more, or just listen to him pronounce his name, like he had somehow been waiting for his call—but he knows he won't answer him; he blocked his number, he is sure. He is afraid of facing that their time together has gone, and that there is no one beside him. He considers calling him anyway, and listen to the dial tone, and later, his voice mail. But he barely glances at his lockscreen and stops himself from making the call; it's a picture of them lying down on his bed, and Felix is asleep in his arms. Jisung is smiling, the sun beating down on them, Felix curled up next to him on his side of the bed. Jisung can feel the quietness and stillness of the moment, and he remembers precisely what happened on that day. He knows he has to change his lockscreen but he knows he never will, so he throws it away in a fit of rage, smashing it on the floor, burying his dampened face in his pillow, until he feels nothing at all. Until the world stops swinging and swirling and spinning. Until there is nothing to feel anymore.
"I wish you would've picked me," I say, amid the music. Felix sighs, defeated. He doesn't answer right away, and for a moment I don't know what he is thinking, what's running through his mind.
"You know I can't, Jisung. We've talked about this." He doesn't sound mad, annoyed, just tired. Exhausted, like dealing with it is a burden he will have to live with for the rest of his life.
"I know," I say, admitting my disappointment. "I just wish things were different, that's all."
"So do I," he regrets, a stray tear forming in the back of his eye. "We knew the end but we still decided to do this."
"I know, and I don't regret it."
Felix doesn't answer. Our song ends.
Jisung is drowning. Drowning is quiet, movements are subtle, rarely making any noise at all. For some reason it doesn’t hurt like he thought it would, he is not scared anymore, it’s almost peaceful actually. He begins to fall. He falls further and further into the darkness until it threatens to swallow him whole. What is he holding on to? In moments he will float like the sea weed, nothing more than flesh and bones ready to decay in the currents. He wants to be saved, he wants a rescuing hand to tow him back to life, to the world he knew but that is now gone. He wants Felix to come back and fix this heart of his, to sew its broken pieces back together and stay.
He doesn't think he can get used to not waking up to Felix's giggle, the smell of coffee in the morning, the soft music playing in the kitchen, the warmth of the bed—especially on Felix's side—, his sweet cologne and the cuddles and stargazing and just enjoying each other's company. He can't face that that part of his life is an old chapter, and that he needs to face a new one: sometimes a breakup is accepting that the person you wanted to love and wanted to love you is incapable of staying. Their love had run its course, and now it is time for Jisung to face a new stage in his life, a new chapter, one that doesn't include Felix. Jisung's love has no expiration date, but Felix's does. Jisung knows this, and he wishes he could stop loving him like they promised they would. But how can one accept this fact so lightly, like what they had wasn't real, wasn't true love. He wishes he could hate Felix, but hating him would mean hating a part of himself, the part he loves the most.
He eventually picks himself up and does as promised: move on. Felix's voice echoes in his mind. Tomorrow we'll be different people, we'll be better versions of ourselves. His tomorrow is waiting for him, and he needs to embark on it alone, the way he is supposed to. He stands up, the wooden floor cold against his bare feet. He picks up his phone; its screen is cracked but he can still see Felix's freckles through it, twinkling the way they always did. He'll miss it. He phones his friends, even though he doesn't want to see anyone right now and bury himself in the darkness of his solitude and isolation but he needs to heal. He smiles through the pain once more until there is no sadness, just gratitude.