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Jeno cannot take it anymore.
Sitting on the edge of a bridge, he thinks about nothing and everything at the same time, a cloud of maligne realisations gnawing at his brain like hungry caterpillars. His spirit has been torn apart gradually, taking most of his summer away with it, annihilated piece by piece by the sweet indolence of his body and soul – too inept in a world of colorful creatures.
Death is a cordial lover and Jeno wishes to finally embrace her, after months of her whispering and dancing courteous around his thoughts: just a tiny push, and he’d be sinking under the dusty waters of the Han River.
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about the consequences; in fact he’s wearing his most expensive shirt, a pair of ripped black jeans and his worn out grey Vans because, he thought, if his body’s found days later by the authorities floating on the surface of the river, he’d like to, at least, make his appearance fashionable and neat. People don’t understand it, they are disgusted with him for having such a profane infatuation with death, but all Jeno sees beyond it is sublime freedom after not having to be bound to the unreliable, depraved material world.
“Kindest Nyx, won’t you let me dive?” he whispers to the night, voice cracking under the humid August heat. The desire to rest for him is sweet, like a first kiss or the gentle promise of a celestial eternity, and the steady stream that’s under him sings melodies of pride, inviting him to join its riveting waters.
Yet his body seems frozen in time, too heavy to carry over the edge of the bridge and commit the crime. Jeno keeps quiet for a minute, the world stagnant around him.
About a meter to his right there’s a sign: an aluminium plate engraved with the words National Suicide Prevention Line , followed by the cyphers of a toll-free number. Around it, there are a few badly executed graffiti, and some of the letters are covered by nasty doodles of skulls and crosses, covering also the following words, printed in white: you are not alone . Jeno feels pretty alone.
The thing is, Jeno’s had enough of roaring desperation crawling under his skin. He’s done enough tipsy shouting at random statues around the city and he’s been through enough for death to seem like a distant desire. He’s okay with the solution of ending his own life because he’s been taught that death is just a part of it, and he’s not afraid anymore, not when the idea of it has been the only thing able to keep him alive for the last few months. Although, strangely enough, there’s still a lingering sense of uneasiness that keeps him glued to the mundane world and doesn’t let him give up so easily. It’s not surprising to realise that he started crying along the way, and as the first ugly sobs make their way out of his lungs Jeno reckons he’s not okay at all, the realisation coming in the form of a stream of consciousness that brings him back to reality with a whiplash.
“You find me sitting here, with the atrocious desire to plunge into your arms. Yet you won’t allow me to jump.” he chuckles defeated as youthful tears run down his cheeks, falling into the dark nothingness that’s under him. There’s a certain giddiness in his voice, perhaps coming with the notion that he’s about to do something everyone has always told him not to do, even if he still has the power to decide his fate.
And yet he wonders if it’s divine intervention or just luck, because he feels drawn to the number written on the sign like a magpie who sees ruby for the first time. The boy’s fingers trace careful around the inscription before he takes his phone, almost automatically, out of his pocket. He dials the number immediately, absent-minded and barely making out the buttons on his screen, because he’s afraid that he’ll change his mind if it takes him any longer. Because the voice that's inside his brain is screaming too loudly against his ear drums, and Jeno just wants to shut her up once and for all; because the warm summer night is too generous, too gentle to let the boy go, lulling him numbly while he cries and cries until he’s blinded by his own tears.
Until someone finally picks up the phone.
“Hyuck, please, I’ve told you a thousand times: I’m not gonna write a whole fucking essay for you just because you fell asleep in class and didn’t take notes. The one I’m writing for myself is taking up too much of my time already.”
It feels strange to hear such harsh words come so suddenly out of a complete stranger’s mouth, especially if they’re supposed to be helping someone who’s looking for moral support. The voice causes Jeno to shuffle in his seat, dazed and uncertain of what to say.
“Hyuck? Oh. This is not his number. Hello?”
Flustered, Jeno realises he probably dialed someone else’s line.
“Uhm, hi.” he sniffles, trying to stabilise his voice by clearing his throat, in vain. “I apologise, I must have gotten the wrong number. I thought this was the...” he reads out the inscription on the sign beside him “...National Suicide Prevention Line.”
“Oh.”
Jeno scratches the paint off the edge of the railing, and some of it comes off and falls into the darkened river. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll hang up now. Goodnight.”
“Wait! Don’t!” the other guy pleads, and Jeno doesn’t know what prevents him from clicking the red button on the screen of his phone. Perhaps it’s the gentle voice at the other end of the line that goes on: “Would you like to... tell me what happened?”
He feels so broken that he doesn’t know where to start; so he just doesn’t. Sticking to the graceful ineptitude swirling around his head seems like the most comfortable option right now, and the boy’s in enough discomfort to allow himself a step out of it. “I- I wouldn’t want to bother a stranger with my web of unsolvable dilemmas…”
“No, please, I do not mind at all. They say I’m a pretty good listener, you know? And I need a break, anyway.” the voice chuckles. A gust of wind ruffles Jeno’s hair.
“Anything to take my mind off this awful chemistry assignment.” they add, a bit more quietly, and Jeno releases a bitter laugh, holding onto the phone for dear life as he thinks how woefully funny it is that this person might find his suffering a better source of entertainment than any of his academic assignments.
“I’m Renjun, by the way. What is your name?” the voice continues, and there’s a shuffling sound in the background. Jeno grips the iron railing of the bridge, knuckles turning white under the bright moonlight. The night breeze tears his arms in many thin shreds.
“I’m Jeno.”
“Such a beautiful name.” Renjun says, and Jeno feels a strange feeling creep up his neck. Maybe it’s the notion that anyone would refer to anything related to him as beautiful, after so many idle months of thoroughly indolent existence. “Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”
Everything comes out his heart at once like a waterfall breaking out of a crushed dam, all of the quiet, resigned sadness of his life is lost and scattered in the benigne air and Jeno has to fight to keep the knot in his stomach from busting loose. His tongue is a desert, dry and empty and sticky against his lips as a familiar madness lets a thousand words float riven into the night. His last question is what finally allows his spirit to break into a million pieces: “Have you ever felt so broken that every time you try to pull yourself together, you end up falling apart even more?”
“Oh. You... you must be in a lot of pain.”
“They just- they keep telling me I need to be positive, but how can I do that when everything I see in front of me is darkness and despair?” Jeno would like to go back in time, to crawl under the warm blanket on his mother’s bed like he used to do when he was little, and forget about everything for an hour or so. Suddenly breathing becomes such a hard thing to do.
“It’s a genuine question” he says, and it takes a few seconds for Renjun to answer.
To Jeno they feel like the longest time ever.
“Look, I won’t tell you that life is beautiful and that you’re doing great. You’re not, Jeno. Life is tough, and scary- hell, life sucks, I get it. Sometimes it looks like everyone and everything is against you, and the only thing that seems to make you feel better is hurting yourself. I’ve been there a couple times, you know?” Renjun explains, sounding nurturing, like a mother. “Life is cruel and it can eat you up like a lion if you’re not ready to face it. But it is also colorful and splendid and grand. Can you recall a moment in your life when you felt happy?”
Jeno thinks of his last birthday, when the people he invited didn’t show up so his mother drove all the way to his apartment and cooked him seaweed soup. He thinks of that time in sociology class when Na Jaemin asked to borrow a pen and smiled at him, and his stomach turned into a swarm of butterflies. He thinks of Christmas Eve, when his uncle gifted him the ugliest sweater he had ever seen, and he had to pretend he liked it, because he didn’t have the heart to tell him. Later that night, he and his mother had laughed about it over eggnog and panettone.
“Well, yeah there are a couple.”
“Good, because it’s those moments that make life worth living. It’s normal to have some ups and downs, you know, but oddly enough you’ll have to deal with them the best way you can. I know it’s overwhelming to hear, because right now it may feel like you’ll never recover from this kind of sadness, and that’s why you might have to make an effort to be able to move forward again. I just think...” Renjun swallows a breath “I think you should try to live your life daily, and not think about what will happen tomorrow, because that will be tomorrow’s problem and you don’t need to deal with it for now. And if a day feels too long then you go through it hour by hour, and if an hour is too much time then you count the minutes instead. And yes, life may suck. But maybe-”
“Look, I’ve been trying, but I cannot rely on a maybe . It’s just not working for me.”
A sweet giggle exits Renjun’s lungs: “Oh, but you see, Jeno, maybe is the most beautiful word in our vocabulary, because it doesn’t grant you certainties, but it opens possibilities… Because it doesn’t look for limits, but goes towards infinity. And I’m convinced that you’re strong Jeno, and even in the last second of your life, you still have the power to change your destiny.”
Jeno moons over Renjun’s words with care, treasuring them into his hands as he holds the phone between his fingers. He thinks again about the soup, and the pen, and the sweater. The summer air is anything but dry against his skin and Jeno lets all kinds of insects land on his arms: it's entertaining to watch them crawl around and struggle to walk between his arm hair; a moth, a beetle. The boy watches as a tiny mosquito lands gracefully upon his thigh.
He takes aim.
Smack.
“What was that?” Renjun asks, apprehensive.
“Just a mosquito trying to bite me. It's dead now."
“Oh.” Renjun whispers, freezing the blood inside Jeno’s veins “Just like that."
"Yeah." It's ironic, because he pretends to be unfazed, but he's definitely affected by Renjun's words.
"Just like that." he repeats.
Under his feet the river cries loudly, and Jeno cries quietly under the moon.
“Can I ask you something?”
Jeno hums, tilting his head and drying away the tears on the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“I’m- I’m pretty sure you don't have any plans for tomorrow.” Renjun sounds so small that Jeno would like to reach into the phone and hug him.
“Well, I wasn’t gonna be there tomorrow.” he finds the energy to say, but Renjun doesn’t laugh. He proposes, instead: “What do you think about having breakfast together in the morning?”
Taken aback by the invite, Jeno takes a moment to respond.
“Please, Renjun, I don’t want your pity-”
“No, listen. I was thinking that it would be nice to take out my friend Mark and maybe treat him to breakfast tomorrow, since it’s his birthday and they opened that new pancake place near campus. His boyfriend thought it'd be a great idea as well.”
A clear of his throat and Jeno adjusts himself on the railing, careful not to slide forward over the precipice. “This is a very elaborate plan to prevent someone from jumping under a bridge.” he states, heart beating fast in his chest. It feels odd, to actually say it out loud - foreign almost; a thought so eerie that makes Jeno’s blood freeze in his veins.
Jumping down a bridge, to end his life .
He was going to do that just a few minutes earlier, and just now he realises how fucked up that really is. The river feels suddenly too rash and impetuous, just meters away from his dangling feet.
“Well… Is it working?” Renjun asks softly, a trace of hope dancing around his words. The sound of the traffic, muffled in the distance, is vile around the boy’s sweet tone.
Jeno doesn’t answer, although a strange feeling starts bubbling within him, something amidst pity but not quite the same thing. Something more heavy and raw, that churns at his insides and doesn’t let go. It’s Renjun’s voice that keeps his head from bursting open. “Could you do something for me? Would you please… step away from the edge of the bridge, and find another place to sit? A safer place, maybe a patch of grass, or a bench.”
Jeno is certain that this must have happened to Renjun before because the boy’s voice is too calm and too steady for someone who’s talking to a person who’s considered ending their life as a form of relieving their pain. He’s just a normal guy, someone his age whose goal is to feel good and make others feel good, a complete stranger, and yet he's here trying to help Jeno overcome his crisis.
Renjun's asked him to take a step back and Jeno reckons he kinda owes it to him, because the boy saved him without even knowing what his face looks like - Jeno supposes he owes it to himself, too, for being brave and finding the courage to seek help. So he picks up his feet and drags them over the railing slow and steady, and his body feels heavier than it ever did before. When he steps on the ground, his legs give up letting him fall on the floor like a castaway at shore. The pavement is warm after hours of exposure to the sun and the asphalt hugs Jeno’s thighs like a mother protecting her child.
The street is empty and dark but Jeno’s never felt safer before in his life. “Do they have blueberry pancakes, too?” he asks innocently, eyes twinkling. “They’re my favorite.”
“Of course!” Renjun’s laugh is honey dripping gentle onto Jeno’s beaten spirit. He must feel extremely relieved, Jeno thinks, and finds his heart beating at the realisation that he was the one to make him beam like that. “They have the best blueberry pancakes in the city! Oh, and their iced coffee is amazing, you should really try it.”
“I love iced coffee.” Jeno says quietly, voice half stuck in his throat. When he looks up at the sky he finds the moon smiling at him, almost too bright for a city with such a high level of light pollution. Even cassiopeia is there, looking down, gathering all the little stars within her to celebrate beauty and life. He listens to Renjun ramble into the phone about the marvellous flavour of waffles with chocolate, listing pretty much every article in the Pancake House’s menu with a detailed review of their taste. His words translate into a lovely song inside Jeno’s head, a song that’s able to cover the currents of the Han river with serenity, that nourishes him of peace. A warm breeze caresses the skin of his thighs.
“Thank you.” he sniffles, feeling a tear slide down and vacillate on the tip of his nose. He decides that this is going to be the last time he cries today: apparently, there will be plenty of occasions in the future anyway. “Thank you Renjun. I think… I think you’ve saved me.”
Renjun sighs and Jeno knows he’s smiling on the other end of the line.
“It's nothing." he says, although they both know it's pretty much everything to Jeno. "Will you promise me you’ll be there tomorrow?”
“I… I don’t know, Renjun…” Jeno says. He’s considering it.
“Please come, it's gonna be fun – plus my friends are really nice. Ten o’clock sharp in front of the Pancake House, don’t be late.” Renjun says, barely masking his giddiness with a voice that’s velvety and neat.
A chuckle leaves Jeno’s throat and settles quiet above the asphalt floor. “I’ll- I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Alright.”
“You should go back to writing your essay, now.” he observes, mindlessly playing around with pebbles and small rocks: he builds a little tower stacking the biggest ones at the bottom and the smallest ones on top. Renjun yawns and it’s absolutely endearing. “I can stay on the phone until you get home, if you want. I don’t mind it.”
“Don’t worry about it, I can manage." Jeno smiles, "It's just a five minute walk to my apartment, anyway.”
“Alright, then, enjoy your walk. See you tomorrow, hopefully.”
“Good night, Renjun.”
Again, Jeno's left alone with his thoughts, although now the agony of his existence has been replaced with a new feeling of uncertainty and hope, and it’s making his body tremble lightly against the warm pavement. He's not okay, and it's going to take a lot of effort and time to recover, but perhaps it won’t be that hard if he tries to do it step by step, like Renjun said.
He’s been walking on the razor blade for months and finally his precious, precious life has been rescued from the painful grip of malicious woe: Jeno realises he started crying again even after promising to himself he wouldn't, because this is a time of odd and shy happiness, one of those moments to add to the list under his mother's soup and Na Jaemin's smile and eggnog and panettone.
So Jeno cries until his last dire tears come out of his eyes, until he’s drenched in his own sorrow and all he can do is look up at the angels and smile.