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Kei’s hands shake around the sides of the sink as if he is experiencing an earthquake inside his own body. In a way, he is. His head is deep in the washbowl which is empty yet he is still drowning in ice cold water. Eyes tingling with tears that refuse to form, body both numb yet on fire, Kei stands before the mirror with his eyes staring at the white porcelain. He sees cracks.
Keiji is there, he is always there, but his presence brings little comfort. It used to help, his warm hand on Kei’s frozen back and his lips whispering sweet encouragements and helpful nothings into the thick air, but with time Kei’s panic attacks got worse, and Keiji’s attempts at helping didn’t get any better even if he tried his very best.
And he did try. He tried so very hard. Kei would wake up after a difficult day to breakfast already made and two slices of strawberry shortcake waiting on the counter. Keiji would help him through those pesky study slumps even though he had no knowledge of biology, he’d rub comforting circles into Kei’s back as they read about evolution together. He’d sense if Kei was having a hard time just from the way he would unlock the front door after a day at university, and right away Keiji would have a blanket and their favourite show ready in the living room. And during these attacks, he’d never once leave Kei alone.
“I’m sorry,” Kei mumbles between rapid breaths, “That you have to deal with this.” He lets his forehead rest against the cool porcelain, lets his eyes close just for a second to imagine a future where he wasn’t going through this. “I’m really trying,” he says.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Keiji replies, but when Kei looks up and sees their reflection from the mirror, all he can see are Keiji’s tired eyes. Unfocused, half-lidded with dark circles darker than their apartment outside of the bathroom. Kei can’t help but feel insane guilt, the kind that could suffocate a person in their sleep, such hatred for himself that he wants to bash his head against the porcelain and do everyone a favour.
“I’m sorry,” Kei repeats because it’s all he can do.
His boyfriend shouldn’t have to go through this, Keiji didn’t sign up for this. Not for these meltdowns, these bad days that seem to last for weeks only for those couple of days of bliss before the hell begins again. He didn’t sign up to be a nurse, a guardian. And Kei’s afraid Keiji is starting to realize this too.
He first noticed it when he once again couldn’t get out of bed. There was nothing wrong, he just couldn’t. Every ounce of his being was pulling him back to bed. Sucking him in like a seductress, only Kei could feel no satisfaction from the action. He just felt disgusted with himself. And Keiji, when he got up… he let Kei be. It was silly of him to expect for his boyfriend to be there for him constantly, picking him up when he put himself down, but when he didn’t ask if everything was okay, if he needed help, and instead went to brew himself some coffee, Kei knew. That Keiji was an angel who Kei had single-handedly made fall.
It continued when Kei relapsed. Before he would keep it to himself in shame, hide every and any evidence of his actions. But with Keiji he had learned that it happens. That it was part of the process, that healing came with a couple of steps back. So, when it happened again, Kei had called Keiji to the bathroom. Apologized and showed his wounds. And, woken up from deep sleep, Keiji had bandaged him up gently and carefully. Only his movements were heavy. As if he were forcing himself to help. As if it took great effort not to just turn and go back to bed. He had apologized, said he was just tired. And despite this, Kei was sure his heart had stopped at that moment as he realized it.
He is a burden. He is a chore.
No matter how much he works to better his mental health, no matter how much he takes his meds and gets out of bed and goes out for a jog, this will be a part of him forever. The hatred towards himself, the neverending fatigue, the scars on his thighs, the ripped nails in the trash, the days he spends not eating, the panic attacks. And as long as that all lasts, he will be a burden to whoever he happens to depend on at the moment. Whether it be himself, his mother, Keiji… He will be a burden forever.
“Kei, don’t cry,” Keiji says all of a sudden when Kei didn’t even realize he had begun shedding tears. The raven-haired man pulls him to his arms, wraps them around him tightly and squeezes him. Only there’s a familiar warmth missing. Everything else is the same, the person, the fresh scent, the soft feel of his limbs, but Kei can’t feel it. The warmth.
They met during Kei’s freshman year of university. Keiji was that mysterious upperclassman who he had met once before during a training camp in high school and who he was basically desperate to approach. And when they did – quite literally bumping into each other in the cafeteria – a steady friendship began. Study and video game sessions, meeting Keiji’s other friends and enjoying each other’s company. After a gathering for first years where Keiji happened to be one of the hosts, back at Keiji’s because it was closer than Kei’s apartment, feelings were confessed in the dark bedroom and kisses were exchanged. Kei’s first kiss. And soon came a shared apartment, a long-lasting relationship and a hope for the future. And now it’s all going to end.
There’s a lump in Kei’s throat that is leaking with pus. He rests his head against Keiji’s chest, swallowing down droplets of the substance. “We’re ending, aren’t we…?” he asks because Keiji has a great job that is often interrupted with Kei texting him, telling him that not everything is okay, that something is wrong, even if he doesn’t know what. He has good friends who Kei is constantly keeping him from seeing because his breakdowns are becoming more and more frequent, and he needs the man.
It’s always Kei needing him, isn’t it? Never the other way around. He’s draining him, draining all his force and all his will and all Kei wishes is that he could stop. He wishes he could be normal and functioning and maybe even a regular human being without all this weight and load on his shoulders.
“What do you mean?” Keiji asks. “No, we’re not.” But Kei can hear the waver, the pause, the uncertainty in his voice. He can feel him gripping on the shredded pieces of their relationship. They’ve been pulling on it for too long, hanging from it with just a bit too much baggage. Now it’s ripping.
Usually the moments before falling asleep are filled with silent chuckles, murmurs about whatever, whispers on the expense of others who were not them, who could never understand what it’s like to be them, but tonight it’s silent. Kei has calmed down despite his still-racing heart, despite the fact that now the entirety of his stomach is filled with pus. It’s expanding, inflating, and soon he’ll explode. His eyes, empty, stare off into the dark bedroom of theirs where they used to share their deepest secrets and vulnerabilities. Kei never thought he’d regret telling all that to Keiji. But now… perhaps it would’ve been better if he kept that all to himself.
He’s sure Keiji misses the person he used to be. That sarcastic, mischievous and cold boy who didn’t seem to care about what others thought and who always had a perfect comeback for every situation. Why would he want this broken man, half of what he used to be with his own mind working against him? Like a broken nail, Kei won’t ever heal unless you rip the whole thing off. Unless you end it all. And that is the one thing he doesn’t want to make Keiji go through. Is he just holding back the inevitable? Hanging between the cliffs of what is and what should be, only able to climb onto one side? Should he just let go altogether?
Kei wakes up falling through his mattress. It’s been days, maybe even a week of not properly getting out of bed. It’s all just been getting worse. He’s so exhausted no matter how long he sleeps that he might as well not wake up at all anymore. And despite his tiredness, the nights stretch on until five am without the ability to fall asleep and only Keiji there to try and comfort him.
It’s early, too early, and Kei looks around for what might’ve woken him up. There’s a heavy pitter-patter of rain outside, the blinds closed and the room still dark. Keiji is by the closet, taking out some clothes into a bag rather rapidly. He’s leaving. Kei’s heart falls through his body and through the floor, down all the stories in their apartment building until it hits the cold concrete ground as he sits up in bed.
“Keiji?” he starts, voice too raspy from sleep to even crack.
Keiji turns around as if he had been just scared by a ghost and not his boyfriend of three years. He blinks in the still-dim room and Kei blinks back, and then Keiji walks over to the bed with a shirt still folded in his hands and sits down.
“I was thinking… We’ve had so many late nights lately and I really need to focus at work for this new project,” he explains but Kei’s not even sure if he hears half of it over the aching white noise in his brain. “I thought maybe it’d be better if I stayed at Bokuto’s for a couple of nights. Is that okay?”
Kei breathes in through his nose but he’s not sure if the air ever leaves his body. If any air enters at all. “Yeah,” he lies. “It’s okay.” He can’t be the reason for Keiji’s work performance to suffer. Not again, not like he has been time and time again.
“Are you sure?” Keiji asks. “If it’s not okay, you can say so. I’ll stay.” The worst part is that Kei knows that if he really said no, it’s not okay, Keiji really would stay. Despite his own wellbeing, his own priorities, he’d stay for Kei even if he didn’t want to. He’d do it out of obligation. He’d do it until whatever is possessing Kei would eat him alive and kill him too.
“No, it’s fine. Do what’s best for you.” Kei tries to force a smile in the dark. He’s sure Keiji doesn’t buy it, but deep down he is begging for an escape. To live in a lie, even if just for a moment. To live free. So Keiji nods and continues packing. He kisses Kei’s forehead before he leaves, kisses him gently and kindly and Kei has to keep all his emotions inside him until the door closes when he can turn around in bed and let himself weep.
He misses his university classes again that day.
It’s not just a couple of nights. Kei counts them despite all his days blending together, and at the five night mark, Keiji finally calls him. Kei has managed to get out of bed, to properly eat something for the first time in days even if everything in the fridge seems to have gone bad. Rotten, just like Kei’s insides.
“Hey, um,” – Kei can hear the television in the background, perhaps Keiji and Bokuto watching sports together – “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Kei responds. Lies. The loneliness he’s felt has crawled through his body, through his intestines and his throat and his brain until it has infested all of him and completely taken over each crevice and each thought that had ever been present in Kei.
Keiji is silent for a moment before he continues: “...Have you fixed your sleep schedule? Or gone to classes?”
“...Yeah.” Lies. “I’ve been a bit better.”
“That’s great, uh… I was thinking.” Oh no. “This project at work is taking up more time than I expected.” Kei must be having a heart attack. “So I thought maybe I should stay here a bit longer. Maybe a week or so.” Please don’t leave him. “What do you think?”
“Well,” Kei continues despite the stabbing pain in his heart. It goes through his entire chest and twists and turns until it has drained all of Kei’s blood, letting it flow down his abdomen and twirl around his legs until it pools on the ground. “If that’s necessary.”
“I think it is. I’m sorry,” Keiji mumbles. “We’ll talk later?”
“Yeah,” and just as he’s sure Keiji’s about to end the call, he has to force himself to continue: “Keiji.” To not give up on the only good thing in his life. Because no matter what a mess he is, how awful his mind is and how much he despises his own existence, he doesn’t despise Keiji. He wants to hold onto him if that’s the one thing he does. So he says: “I love you.”
The silence Kei receives hurts more than the fact that he knows Keiji has had enough. And when finally the man replies with a: “Yeah,” before ending the call, Kei can do nothing but slide down on the tiled floor against the kitchen counters and bury his head in his hands.
Keiji never comes home again.
There’s only Bokuto, coming in a couple of weeks later to pick up the rest of Keiji’s things. He briefly says hi to Kei, doesn’t explain anything, just goes to the closet. He picks up every piece of clothing from Keiji’s flannels to his socks, from his turtlenecks to the jersey of Kei’s that shrunk in the wash and which Keiji claimed as a pyjama top – except at the sight of it, Bokuto puts it back in the closet. Leaves it. He picks up Keiji’s perfumes, his wristwatch, his morning slippers, his backup glasses, his wooden box full of stories he’s written – many of which were dedicated to Kei – his important documents and last but not least, Kei’s heart. Then Bokuto leaves with not another word spared.
Kei knew it was coming. He had been expecting it. That, however, didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t stop him from now lying in bed in the dark, feeling absolutely nothing as he stares at the wall. It didn’t stop him from finding Keiji’s t-shirt from under the bed when looking for a pair of socks and sobbing at the sight of it. It didn’t stop him from letting himself rot in the quiet and cold apartment with bills and messages from his professors building up. It didn’t stop him from ripping his nails apart until his fingers bled. It didn’t stop him from realizing that because he is the way he is, he will always end up alone. Because he is too much to bear.
And for that, he doesn’t blame Keiji. He only blames himself.