Work Text:
your image flickers in the dark,
you are so distant, yet so close.
i raise my hand to stroke your hair,
i try to hold this lifeless ghost,
but the illusion fades away
and leaves my loneliness exposed.
your image flickers in the dark,
you are so distant, yet so close.
***
The room is filled with light. Red, orange and yellow, falling through the glass in colourful stripes, slightly distorted, covering the man that stands in front of the window in gentle warmth.
He watches so intently, as if unable to tear his eyes away, and I can see the outline of his waist through the oversized t-shirt. He likes wearing my clothes, even though they always look too big on him.
However, these last few months, everything looks too big on him. He's been losing weight, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly. He knows I'm worried, yet stubbornly refuses to talk about it, unwilling to admit that something is wrong.
I know he's been seeing a doctor. He thinks I don't know or, perhaps, we both play this game of pretending to be oblivious. It's easier this way.
We're equally terrified. I know that sooner or later this thing that's consuming him will spread and evolve, and swallow us both, in the end.
I've been making recordings of him. There's a small camera floating above, close to the ceiling, and its sole focus is on him. Always him.
As if grieving something that hasn't been lost yet.
I shouldn't be thinking like that.
"You know, I've always liked sunsets. Like the first time we met, it was such a beautiful evening." He turns around and the smile on his lips grows wider. It's a familiar gesture of comfort, cultivated by years of cohabitation, and my heartbeat immediately slows down. "Do you remember, Mo Ran?"
The young man's eyelashes fluttered slightly, revealing a pair of thoughtful dark eyes. He looked around, rubbing the back of his head, then pulled out his phone out of the bag, scrolling through the newsfeed absent-mindedly. He didn't pay attention to the glances, fully aware of the girls' hushed whispers, yet firmly refusing to acknowledge them.
It was early in the morning and the train was packed with people from all walks of life. Most of them were office rats or retail workers, but there were also plenty of adolescents, highschoolers and students, rushing towards the commercial area of the city. It circled around in a complex loop, gathering them all like a shepherd dog, and then carrying its herd, safe and sound, to the final destination.
When the train stopped, releasing the passengers, who immediately rushed outside in an endless flow, the young man from before still stood out in the crowd. He was tall and rather handsome, and carried himself with great confidence. If one were to look at him, they would probably describe him as "exceptional" or "stunning".
However, there were two very important things that none of the onlookers could possibly know.
First - this young man had been married for six years.
And second - in less than ten hours he was going to sign the permission for his husband to die.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," he laughs and this laughter is worth every sleepless night that I watched his chest rise and fall, counting his breaths. "I'm really fine, don't worry. We. Are going. For a walk!"
His enthusiasm is contagious and I can't help but fall under its spell. For a moment, one precious moment, the clouds are dispersed, both in the sky and my own heart. The weather is sunny and warm, he's holding my hand, and I want to believe… I want to believe that the last few months are nothing but a bad dream.
We go to his favourite café. He orders a cocoa with caramel, chocolate and a whole lot of marshmallows, as well as a piece of strawberry cake. Any other day I would argue, telling him that eating this much sugar is bad for his health, but now we both know that he's not going to die from diabetes.
I want to indulge him.
There's not much time left, so I want to indulge him, to make him happy, to put a smile on his face.
I don't want to think about tomorrow.
He's so cheerful. Eating the cake, talking about some movie that he watched while I was at work, making plans for the winter holidays. Two months don't seem too long, but in his case it's worth an eternity.
I take his hand and kiss his fingers, one by one. They're thin and fragile, and I'm afraid of accidentally hurting him, but he just laughs and strokes my palm.
We take a walk, trying to stay close to our apartment, just in case. He knows we can't go too far, and his shoulders shudder in frustration, but he doesn't object.
I notice him getting weaker. We must return soon. The camera is floating, filming, preserving those memories.
"I think it's time to go home, baobei."
"Mm-hm."
He nods weakly, and I gently guide him back. Three flights of stairs turn out to be too much of a challenge, so I have to carry him in my arms. I kiss his temple and inhale his smell. He smells like candy.
My Wanning.
How will I ever be able to let you go?
The hospital corridors were almost empty. The few visitors that walked through them resembled ghosts, and the nurses and doctors had those strange expressions on their faces, solemn and sorrowful, but also empty. As if they were always prepared to express their condolences. As if death became part of their daily routine.
Mo Ran knew that it was a coping mechanism. Nothing personal, just a way to proceed with their own lives while working in a place full of death. These were the hopeless patients. Not a single one of them could ever leave this place alive.
To be fair, they couldn't leave at all.
He was holding a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. He counted doors, starting from the second floor reception desk - first, second, third… Finally Mo Ran stopped in front of the seventh door, almost at the end of the corridor, hesitated, then opened it.
The room was eerily quiet, interrupted only by the steady beeping sounds of the heart monitor. He approached the bedside table, took the withered bouquet out of the vase, carefully put it in a paper bag and replaced it with a new one. The box from last week was gone, probably taken by one of the nurses. Mo Ran nodded to himself, opened the drawer and put the chocolates inside of it.
His husband couldn't eat them anyway, but out of habit he kept on bringing more and more. Without the nurses they would've gone rotten. Why did it matter?
Why couldn't he stop?
It's already been so long. Why couldn't he stop?
Mo Ran sat by the bed, watching his husband sleep. He wanted to scream, to pull Chu Wanning up and cradle him in his arms, to plead and pray to the god that he didn't even believe in, if only it could help…
When the doctor came in, he was still sitting like this, motionless. His head moved, but his eyes were fixed on the lying man.
"Mo-xiansheng, are you sure that you're ready to do this?"
"Yes." Mo Ran could barely recognize his own voice anymore, as well as the person saying these words. Although his lips were moving, his brain was completely numb. "Yes, I'm ready. It's time."
"Well then, once you've signed the papers we can- We can begin the procedure."
I ask for a room with windows facing west, so that Chu Wanning can watch the sunset whenever he wants. Luckily, there is a vacant one that fits the requirements, which means that his first day in the hospital will at least be brightened up somewhat.
He doesn't complain.
Even though he can't walk on his own anymore and I have to push his wheelchair through the hallway, he still greets the nurses politely and tries to help me as much as he can, holding a bag with his clothes on his lap.
"Oh." He sighs when we enter the room, longingly gazing towards the window. He quickly does some mental calculations, studying the furniture arrangements, then exhales happily. "How thoughtful, Mo Ran. Thank you."
No one can tell us how much time we have to be like this. Together.
No one is willing to make any promises, which is why I'm so scared.
I'm terrified. Isn't it ironic that Chu Wanning is the one who's dying, yet it's me who needs to be consoled?
"Do you like it, baobei?" My lips are trembling, and I try to hold back the tears, but my will betrays me, and a few drops still fall on the floor.
"I love it, Mo Ran. It's wonderful."
I help him unpack, then put the very first of many bouquets in the simple glass vase and a box of chocolates beside it.
Later, once I'm gone, he's going to give all of the sweets away to the medical personnel. It's going to take a few weeks for me to find out that Chu Wanning is doing this because he can't eat candy anymore.
When I kiss his nape, his hair smells like medicine, but he's still mine.
My husband.
My heart.
He sat on the floor in their bedroom, watching the man by the window. He was facing away from Mo Ran, and in the rays of the setting sun the outline of his silhouette was fluorescent.
"You know, I've always liked sun- Sun- Sun-"
The image glitched, the last sounds repeating a few times in a row. The man's figure froze before he could fully turn around, and Mo Ran couldn't see his face, stretching out his hand, but it went right through.
In a few more moments, the image disappeared. The camera must've run out of battery, the digital reminiscence was gone, leaving him alone, and as he looked out of the window there was nothing but darkness.
When Mo Ran lay down on the bed, clutching the sheets, he tried to remember the taste of Chu Wanning's lips.
Caramel. Vanilla. Sugar.
So sweet.
"When I'm gone, I want you to carry on. Don't you dare give up. You have to live, you hear me? You have to live."
"Live for me, Mo Ran."
He made a promise to live and he ought to keep it, even though his heart could never be whole.
Even though he only had this electric sunset to keep him company, forever.