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In the darkness of his apartment, Neil Watts cracked an egg into a pan. He let it cook sunny-side up, added some salt and pepper, and tossed the oil over the egg. The sounds of sizzling decorated the empty room, floating over the faint music coming from his phone. The midnight moonlight illuminated the tiny kitchen, casting a blue tint over the scene. Neil yawned and flopped the egg onto his plate.
Bon appetit, he declared to himself. Dinner is served. He fished out a fork from the drawer and stuck a piece in his mouth. Not bad. But not good either. He’d settled for leaning over the kitchen counter, cheap tableware and all. Sure, it was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t sleep since his mind was running a million miles a minute, and he figured there was no better time to perfect that damn sunny-side up egg recipe that kept kicking his ass every morning. Besides, he was looking for a distraction from those aforementioned thoughts, those pesky ideas keeping him up, to which he put on his music to drown them out and tried to fry his egg because he couldn’t stop thinking about—
Neil’s phone lit up.
eva_rose: Go to bed, Neil.
Of course she’d DMed him on Discord. And to tell him to sleep, of all things. Neil frowned and stuck his fork in his mouth to type a response.
drWatts69: shut upp
drWatts69: also how did you know i was still awake?
eva_rose: Your dumb status is still visible.
drWatts69: whats wrong with my status???
eva_rose: “ayyy turn my swag on ayyy”
eva_rose: Honestly, Neil...
Why was she awake now, of all times? Now, when she was the last thing he wanted to think about. Neil groaned and took another bite of his egg.
drWatts69: you just dont know how to appreciate true art eva
drWatts69: the art of soulja boy
A half-assed answer. He wanted this conversation to be over ASAP. Not because he disliked her attention (in fact, it was quite the opposite, and if he was being honest it made him feel sick).
eva_rose: I.
eva_rose: Nevermind. Just go to bed. It’s already past midnight.
And just like that, she was offline again. He got his little wish. Neil stared at the gray space where her status was (which had simply read, “A romantic wish is nothing but a fantasy”—which was definitely not the reason he couldn’t sleep, he told himself). So then why was he wishing she would come back, text him one more time, a desperate return along the lines of, “Wait, there’s something I need to tell you,” and in that wished upon moment she would finally tell him the thing he wanted so desperately to hear, and—
By some cosmic coincidence, Neil checked what song was playing on his phone. Chet Baker’s soft voice mocked him in notes of affection and faded away into the next song.
“But still I fall in love too easily... I fall in love too fast.”
Neil rolled his eyes. Bunch of crap. He was not the type to fall in love too easily, nor too fast. He didn’t spend his time daydreaming, wondering about the future, or romanticizing the little moments (he told himself). That’s not what he was doing earlier. It was just those damn thoughts again, the persistent little shits that kept tempting him with lovely what ifs and impossible outcomes. Keeping him awake, entertaining the possibility, the slim lottery chance that someone, anyone—no, she—would fall in love with him. She, the one and only person he wanted (no matter how much his mind insisted he didn’t!), that flower-headed, ever-prepared, blooming partner of his that he could never have: Eva Rosalene.
Ugh. In one swift lift of his plate, the egg disappeared, and Neil chewed with an urgency he’d never felt before. But no matter how hard he tried to eat it away or quiet its voice with other noise, that sleazy little bit of hope remained. It laughed at him, now, in the voice of a woman named Ilene Woods. She hummed, lilting and beautiful, and like magic, Neil gave in to the romantic in his heart. Funnily enough, he’d never really liked Cinderella. (But what a mystery, why such a song was on his phone to begin with.)
“So this is love,” he mumbled along. The moon-blue hue of the room became something otherwordly, something out of a fairytale. The silvery moonlight formed stars, roses, and jellyfish, little illusions before his eyes. If it was the power of pure imagination or pure sleep deprivation, he couldn’t tell. “So this is love...”
Time came to a standstill as that wish of romance blossomed in his mind. She stood there before him, smiling amidst a field of moonflowers. Her beautiful white dress glistened as if it were unreal. The moonlighted-illusion stepped forward, and so did he. Even if it was nothing more than a fantasy, wasn’t it at least real to him? Was a love like that enough?
“So this is what makes life divine...” The pale glow of the conjured Eva spun itself into her warm skin. Neil suddenly became acutely aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. Despite knowing she wasn’t really there, despite knowing this wasn’t actually a future meant for him, that this silly imagining of a first date wasn’t possible—Neil smiled.
“I’m all aglow, and now I know,” he chuckled, feeling the blush radiate from his face all throughout his body. Warmth spread from his hand to the moonlight’s as he held it, bittersweet hope filling his heart.
“The key to a heaven is nigh...” Neil took the sleeve of the coat and held it up, mimicking the pose of a waltz, believing it wasn’t a coat but her, really her, not some deliriously imagined midnight shadow. Unhooked from the coat hanger, they began to dance around the blue hued room.
Eva smiled at him, her hand grasping his lightly. She looked too sweet and too perfect, silvery and soft. Something in her eyes glimmered. She was still nothing more than powdery light. Neil slid his other hand down to her hip. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was that in a wish of romance, he could have this, all of this, (and yet some sad part of his heart whispered, this can never be, this will never be).
“My heart has wings, and I can fly,” he sang in spite of his doubt. But perhaps it will be, he thought. Perhaps love would triumph this time. Perhaps such a thing didn’t have to stay in fantasy. After all, he was struck with such a profound fear whenever he saw her, one that said, “I can’t bear to lose her.” And yet at the same time, it was like every bone in his body ached to fly upward, fly away with her and forget the world. This was all he wanted. She was all he wanted. (How pathetic.)
“I’ll touch every star in the sky,” Neil sighed as his hand drifted up to cup her face. But Eva was no longer blushing, no longer warm and real. Her eyes had turned to starbits, specks of white, and her lovely hand chilled like marble. The color drained from his cheeks and his smile faded.
"...Eva? What happened? You're so cold," he whispered, rubbing his thumb over her fingers. Cynical bitterness spiked his heart. You delusional little romantic. How could you forget?
"None of this is real, Neil," her silver voice echoed in the night, all hollow and fake and moonlit. Her hands slipped from his grasp and her white dress shimmered. One by one, the folds transformed into countless moon jellyfish. They floated up, phasing through the window and leaving behind ephemeral sparkles.
Neil could only stand there and watch, his glasses clouded by specks of white. He really was stupid, for believing he had some far off chance of changing her heart. Of erasing the word “business” and leaving only “partners.” Of making her his.
“So this is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of...” The golden music floated on, mocking him in his solitude, but stopped suddenly. Silence washed over him like a cold wave, and suddenly he was drowning in a dark ocean. His illusion floated away, and he was left with a strange feeling in his heart. It was heavy and warm, yet almost pleasant. But it crushed his bones, weighed him down as though he were slipping beneath the darkness.
Neil blinked, and the world around him swirled back into reality. Everything remained as it was. The coat sleeve slipped from his hand. Nothing had changed. And maybe it never would.
“So this is love...”
Painful, uncertain, and nearly unbearable. An ache unlike any other, unlike the genetic ache that would kill him someday. This was an ache of the heart. Uncurable without her love.
Neil took off his glasses. I’m not in love, he told himself. If this is love, I don’t want it.
He thought of constellations, jellyfish, wild tomatoes, sunlight in their garden and endless days of hope. He thought of it, crushed by cruel fate. The red string of fate tangled and stretched until it threatened to fray.
Neil looked at the moon and told himself this was love. He smiled. How unfortunate.