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"You need to stop this." Skip. "He wouldn't want you acting this way." Skip. "Vegas? Can you at least call me ba—" Delete voice message? Yes.
He doesn't really know how long he's been lying on the ground. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better than the bed. The bed was cold. The bed just felt empty. The bed wasn't the same anymore. And he hated it.
The room was dark, a perfect contrast to the light illuminating from the digital clock. It read 3 o'clock in the afternoon, yet it didn't seem like a sunny afternoon in the apartment. The place looked like it hadn't seen sunlight in days.
Vegas was on the wooden floor, on his side and his phone in front of him. Skimming through the countless messages and missed calls, not bothering to open any of them. Quickly deleting the new ones coming along, he didn't want to check who they were coming from.
It was already obvious what they were about.
He was tired of hearing the same stream of words. "How are you doing?" "Have you been eating? "We're here if you need someone." But, that's where the problem was. He didn't need them. He's only ever needed one person, and they weren’t even here in this apartment anymore.
After all the mindless swiping, Vegas paused once his phone's lock screen was cleared, and he could clearly see the photo he had used as its background. His eyes traced the familiar smile and the eyes that crinkled in happiness.
And then the 30-second auto-lock kicked in, causing the light to shut off. Vegas was left to see his own reflection on the now black screen, the apparent haggardness on his face was mocking him. He looked terrible, but he couldn't even bring himself to care.
It's been five months. Five months of this endless cycle of Vegas rarely leaving the house, and practically dragging himself to at least do some grocery shopping. He wasn't even sure if he had showered this past week.
He knew he painted the perfect picture of misery and grief. Who would've known that the two go hand in hand?
His eyes strayed to the side, taking in the old art supplies on the ground. Jars filled with old paintbrushes and dried out paints lay scattered. An artist's palette accompanied them, practically worn-out, yet Vegas knew how much its owner cherished it.
Half-finished paintings were propped up facing the wall, the reason being that he couldn't bring himself to look at them. It reminded him that they would never be finished. No matter how much it killed him to keep them in the apartment.
He looked away, not wanting to dwell too deep into his thoughts. It was dangerous to lose himself in them.
Making a decision, Vegas stood up from his place on the floor. An ache throbbed from his side, a result of laying on the floor for too long. Slowly padding away from the living room, and collectively ignoring all the scattered books, cushions from the couch, and even the broken glass from the once intact coffee table. Squinting at the light seeping through the curtains, he stopped short in front of the bathroom door.
His hand paused in its movement to twist the doorknob open. He knew that if he opened the door, the first thing he would be greeted with was the cracked mirror above the sink. Vegas remembered punching it a few months ago, and never bothered to replace it after the incident. The phantom ache on his knuckles began to creep, and he could practically hear the blood trickling down to the ground after he had destroyed the mirror.
The memory of punching it over and over again, in his fit of rage. He never replaced it because he thought his new reflection suited him. Broken and jagged.
Another reason why he didn't want to open the door was because he was scared he was going to imagine the sound of the shower already running. A sleepy voice calling out, and telling him to go make some coffee after Vegas was finished drying his hair
He was especially afraid that if he looked into that mirror, he might even see a reflection behind him. A reflection of someone he sincerely wished was actually there. Deciding to just keep his eyes on the ground, Vegas opened the door and opted to take a quick shower.
The water was punishingly cold, but he could hardly feel it. He couldn't really feel a lot of things these days.
It was like he was completely numb to all kinds of sensations. Or maybe it was also the effects of being holed up in a dark apartment for months.
Not bothering to even dry his hair properly, he left the bathroom, still not looking at the mirror. Walking forward, thinking of just laying on the couch for the remainder of the day, he ended up tripping on something. He looked down at the wire his foot caught on. He followed it until his gaze landed on a lone charger, still plugged in next to the socket of the couch. He leaned down to unplug it and froze.
It wasn't his charger. He recognized the stretched out cord that had been tugged on too many times.
His hand began to tremble when he realized that removing the charger from its socket was basically just admitting the one thing he had been in denial of. Quickly standing up, he ran out of the apartment, not bothering to even lock the door. He had to find someplace he could breathe.
He didn't stop running, not even until he was practically in sight of the city's outskirts. He never liked Bangkok. The city felt suffocating, unlike his home back in Chiang Mai. Bangkok was a city that was in constant motion, as if everyone in the city were a bunch of wind-up toys.
It was like he was the only one who didn't care for being constantly on the go. Someone who didn't care much for the thirst of feeling superior. He used to think that every person in Bangkok was one and the same.
That was until he found that one other person who proved him wrong. The one person who wasn't like anyone else in the whole of Thailand or maybe even in the whole world?
No. He had to stop thinking about him . Vegas shook his head, stopping in his tracks. His legs burned from the effort it took to run, reminding him that he hadn't been keeping himself in shape. He scanned his surroundings, feeling a vague sense of familiarity wash upon him.
He was in the middle of a small road, surrounded by patches of grass. The sun casted an unforgiving shine on him, and he felt a drop of sweat dribble on his temple. He was alone.
And that's when Vegas broke.
He collapsed onto his hands and knees and started to scream. He screamed and cursed out to no one in particular. Tears had sprung from his eyes, and fell on the asphalt. The heat from the ground burned into his palms, but he wanted the pain. He wanted to feel something. Anything.
His screams turned into sobs, and his throat felt raw from the mindless screaming. He hated this. He hated everything. Why was everything in this world so hateful?
"You'll dirty your jeans if you stay down there for too long."
Vegas paused at the sudden appearance of a baritone voice above him. He looked up, but the glare of the sunlight prevented him from seeing the person's face properly. His eyes squinted from the brightness, but he could make out the vague hints of a smile on the stranger's face.
He didn't make any movement to get up, so caught up in his emotions that he couldn't process the sudden presence of another human being with him.
"Are you just gonna stay there? Or are you gonna at least get up?" The voice spoke again, and Vegas couldn't help but wonder why it sounded so familiar?
Blinking in confusion, Vegas stood up slowly and dusted his clothes off. He was now face to face with the stranger, but the glare of the sunlight behind the other was a good spot to prevent him from seeing their face properly.
It most certainly did not help that this was the most amount of sunlight he's seen in quite some time.
"Well c'mon. Don't just stand there, let's go." The stranger spoke again, this time turning around to walk down the road.
Vegas could only stare in confusion, unsure of whether he should follow such a strange person all of a sudden.
"I said don't just stand there!" The stranger laughed, and Vegas found himself trailing after the other.
It's like he was just compelled to do what the other said, which was strange indeed. He was now walking a few steps behind the other, staring at his head. He was wearing an outfit that was completely white.
He stared at the jet black hair on the stranger’s head, and he was reminded of someone. Not to mention, the stranger's ensemble was something that particular person would wear. "Let's sit c'mon."
Vegas blinked again when he saw the other just come to a halt, and walked off the road into the patch of grass. He continued to stare when the white-clad male sat down on the grass. He slowly followed them, plopping onto the ground next to him.
"Is it alright to sit on the ground when you're wearing something white?" His voice was hoarse, probably from all the screaming he was doing just a few minutes ago, but he couldn't help but voice out his thoughts. The male laughed, while he still struggled to see the other properly.
The sun was still shining from behind him, causing Vegas to only see the outline of his side profile. "It's fine. Nothing a little wash can't fix." The other hummed, and Vegas could only stare at him in silence.
The other didn't pay any mind to his staring. Then, he opened his mouth to speak. "Did you know? There is a myth that says if you cry in the middle of the road, a stranger in white will appear. It is said that the stranger will keep you company, until you forget why you were crying in the first place."
Vegas remained silent, a small breeze flew past them, causing a few stray leaves to fly away. A bird chirped somewhere nearby, and if he listened carefully, he could also hear the soft buzzing of a bee a few meters away. "You made that up."
The other hummed, drawing his knees up to his chest. Vegas watched as he rested his chin on top of them, now he could only see the back of their head. "Perhaps, but maybe I did so to help you."
This time Vegas could hear the crashing of waves, soft but powerful.
He looked forward and saw the sea, the waves inching every so often on the sand. Melodious and calming. It reminded him of the beach he would visit for the summer. The memory of sun-kissed skin and laughter on the shore. A time when he was still happy.
"What does that mean?" He asked, still watching the tides move in rhythm.
Another hum. "It means that I am here to listen, if you want to speak."
Vegas didn't dare look at the other. He weighed the implication of that offer. He refused to speak to his friends and family for months, and now a stranger was offering a listening ear? The entire thing was ridiculous, but maybe that's something he needed at the moment.
He sighed, and crossed his legs. His hands on either side of him, the grass in between the gaps of his fingers. Maybe what he needed was something different. Not something familiar.
"I lost someone five months ago." He said it. He hadn't admitted that out loud in months, deciding to take a faux vow of silence in the apartment. The apartment he shared with that very same person.
The stranger didn't hum, nor did he offer any form of condolence. Something Vegas was grateful for. The last thing he wanted to hear was another apology, because why should they apologize? What did anyone have to apologize for? Just what good were these apologies going to do?
"You can tell me how it happened if you want to, if not then that's okay too."
Vegas watched as an Ashy Woodswallow bird landed on the sand across from them. Strange, how much it resembled the ones in Chiang Mai.
"He was on his way home." Vegas began, if he closed his eyes he could remember what he was doing that same day. "I'm a photographer, and I had just wrapped up a photoshoot." It was a last minute one, one wherein he had to rearrange his schedule to accommodate the model.
He remembered the feelings of annoyance he had that day. How much he had wanted to leave, but was stuck in his studio since it was good money.
"I was supposed to pick him up, so we could have dinner at home."
Neither of them were good cooks. Unlike the close mutual older friend they shared. But he remembered how determined they were to attempt to make their own dinner that day. How they had spent the night before, searching up on any simple recipes to try out.
Vegas remembered how he had spent most of the time tickling the other, they were lying on bed side to side and Vegas was in a rather playful mood. He remembered how the other had yelled at him to stop and to help look for a good recipe. He remembers everything about that day. He also remembers the unexpectedness of it all, and the pain that followed shortly after.
"He called me to tell me that he had finished selling a piece to a gallery. He was a painter. A damn good one." He had always admired how simple it was for the other's daydreams to transform into an abstract work of art. How at ease he was, whenever he had a brush on hand.
Vegas remembered gifting him a new set of paints and brushes, the sheer happiness on the other's face. It was nice to wake up in the morning and see the other by the window, a canvas in front of him and much too busy making sure that the brushstrokes were even.
"I told him that the photoshoot had another hour left, and he scolded me by telling me that I work too hard."
They had a fight once, during the time that Vegas scarcely came home because he was always busy scheduling photoshoots after photoshoots.
It was also the time that the other was going through an art slump, and was having difficulty selling any of his new pieces. Rent was unforgiving, and Vegas did what he could to make sure that it was paid on time.
They were relentless during that fight, both refusing to back down, until the other expressed his own guilt at not being able to make ends meet. They quickly made up, and Vegas assured the other that he had all the time in the world to garner his inspiration once more.
"He told me that he would wait for me at home, and how he was planning on painting the beginnings of winter." It was ridiculous how one wanted to paint a winter themed artwork, when it was the middle of summer. Yet he knew that it was just another endearing quirk the other had.
"Then, the art director told me that I was needed back on set, and I rushed to tell him that I would be home soon." He had wanted to talk more, but he knew that the faster he wrapped up the shoot, the faster he could get home.
"I hung up quickly, and I knew that I cut him off when he was telling me that he loved me." That was the worst part really. He had forgotten to tell the other he had loved him. But, how was he supposed to know that was supposedly his last chance to do so? "I thought it didn't matter since I was going to see him afterwards. I could hear him say it once I was home." Except, he never got to hear those words ever again.
Vegas shut his eyes, and he could almost picture the pout the other must have had on his face. How he was probably planning to sulk while waiting for Vegas to come home. He was good at that. Being sulky and childish. And how it always worked in his favor.
"I finished the shoot, ran to catch the train and then I was home." He clenched his fists on the grass, feeling the dirt shift beneath his fingers. "I was home, but he wasn't."
First, confusion crept into his chest. Followed by worry, and Vegas quickly took out his phone to call the other. Yet, it went straight to voicemail after a couple of rings. It didn't make any sense back then. It still didn't make sense during the aftermath.
"When he didn't answer his phone, I started to worry. So, I called again and again. I was getting desperate because I was just so worried." Worried was an understatement. He was pacing back and forth inside the apartment, dialing the number and over and over again. "It was during the fifth call that the call connected."
The sigh of relief he let out, at the familiar sound of the call being answered. Vegas didn't know that it was also the sound just before his world would come falling apart.
"It wasn't him who answered, it was a police officer." He could feel the beginning of a sob in his throat, but he forced it down. He needed to say this.
”I'm sorry sir, but the owner of this phone was involved in a car accident."
Vegas repeated the words he heard that day.
"The driver was speeding and didn't realize that the light was red. Your friend was crossing down the street and he was hit. I'm sorry to say sir, but he didn't make it. Can I know your home address so I can send someone for you?"
It was like time had stopped when the words had registered in Vegas' brain. He dropped his phone, not hearing the sound of the officer still on the phone, asking if he was alright. He had just stood there, in front of the doorway, as if it was all a lie and that he was actually coming up the stairs. As if the ringing in his ears and the tightness in his chest was all just his imagination, and that he was coming home.
Tears were now streaming once again down Vegas' cheeks, and he had now opened them to look at the other. The sunlight no longer prevented him from seeing the other's face.
"And god I miss him. I miss you so much, Pete."
His watery eyes took in the same dimpled smile he loved and the crinkled eyes he had always found endearing. It was like Pete was really right here in front of him. It was like he had never left.
"My Vegas." Vegas choked at the sound of his own name. How he had gone months without hearing it, he didn't know. He stretched a hand out and almost sobbed in relief when he could cup Pete's cheek.
The warmth underneath his palm seemed so real.
"If this is a dream, I never want to wake up." He whispered and he felt another hand rest on the one he had on Pete's cheek.
"You'll need to wake up eventually, Vegas." Pete replied, stroking the back of his hand. It was the same hand he had used to punch the bathroom mirror.
"I don't want to. I don't want to wake up in a world where you're not there anymore, Pete." He shut his eyes as more tears continued to fall. "It hurts Pete. It hurts every goddamn day, because whenever I wake up in the morning I'm just faced with the fact that you're gone."
He spat out bitterly, his hand leaving the other’s cheek. "It hurts that I can't wake up with you next to me. That I won't ever see you painting by the window. Or that your phone charger is still plugged in because removing it would mean I accept that you're not coming back."
He felt the urge to start screaming once again. To scream at just how unfair this world was. How it chose to continue on without Pete.
"Vegas, you can't keep clinging to the memory of me. At least, not like this."
A hand cupped his cheek softly, and Vegas leaned into its warmth. His eyes were still shut, afraid that if he were to open them, Pete would disappear.
"You haven't lost me, Vegas. I'm still here. There are still traces of me left in this world."
A thumb caressed his cheek gently, and Vegas raised a hand to hold Pete's. Wanting to keep him there.
"You know that I would never leave you alone."
He felt the press of lips on his other cheek, the warmth that bloomed from his chest at the feeling.
"Open your eyes love."
Vegas shook his head. He didn't want to. He just wanted to bask in the warmth of Pete's presence. He wanted to keep this feeling for as long as he could.
"I won't disappear once you open them. I promise."
He felt two kisses, one on each of his eyelids. He took a shaky breath, and tightened his hold on the other's hand. And slowly, he opened his eyes.
The sight in front of him took his breath away. The sunlight had returned, but the way it was streaming behind Pete, served to instead cloak him in sunshine. His smile was back, that same one that had a certain shine to it. It was the smile of the person he loved. And god, was it beautiful. Pete was beautiful.
"You need to live, Vegas. You need to do it for me." Pete brushed the remainder of Vegas' tears from his cheeks with both hands. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead, the action giving him comfort like it always did before.
"It's hard." Vegas muttered, still unsure of how he was going to just continue on with his life after this moment he was sharing with his lover. He didn't even think of the after, of the reality, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to do so.
"I know." His lover gave him a sad smile, yet his eyes still held the same amount of love and affection that Vegas had missed seeing on a daily basis. "I know it's hard. But I also know that it will get better."
Vegas bit his lip, both his hands were now on top of Pete's own, he curled his fingers into the gaps of the other's. Uncaring of the soft scratch it gave his cheeks, he just wanted to touch Pete for as long as possible.
"You have to let me go, Vegas."
Vegas shook his head once again. That's the very thing he has never wanted to do. Ever. "I don't want to. I promised you before that I would never let you go."
Pete paused at that, his expression now saddened. "Our first fight." He recalled.
That was another aspect of what transpired during their fight. After Pete expressed his guilt, he had also told Vegas that the other should just leave. How Pete was a weight that Vegas didn't have to bear. He remembered shutting the other up by kissing him.
He swore then and there that he wasn't planning on letting go of Pete. Ever. How the other was stuck with him for the rest of their lives. Pete had joked about how this wasn't getting him out of a marriage proposal in the future, but the moisture in his eyes was apparent.
"Vegas, you can't live like some shadow of your former self. I can't imagine how worried our friends are for you."
There was truth ringing in Pete's words. The countless missed calls, text messages and even some unanswered door knocks were testament to that.
Pete gently removed his hands from Vegas' cheeks, and held the other's hands. He kissed each palm, and looked up. "It's okay to continue on, even when I'm not there."
Vegas swallowed, his eyes scanning his lover's face once again. Memorizing every detail, storing it away just like whenever he would snap stolen pictures of the other. Pete smiled and leaned forward.
"You got me." Pete whispered and Vegas couldn't help but let out a small laugh, just out of fondness. "I got you." He whispered back, and with another bright smile, Pete kissed him.
And it was just like all their past kisses. It was like those pitch black nights when they would stay up, just looking through the pictures on Vegas' camera. It was like the stars twinkling up in the sky, whenever they would sneak up to their apartment’s "closed to the public" rooftop to stargaze.
It felt like cherry blossoms scattered in the wind, just like their first trip to Japan together. It was the sunlight that draped itself over Pete, whenever he fell asleep on the couch, with the curtains drawn up.
Most importantly, it was just a kiss of love. It was a kiss that he had needed for so long. From a person he had missed and had wished to see again.
And then it was over.
Pete pulled away, a reassuring smile on his face. Vegas brought his hand up, giving his knuckles a kiss. "I'll still miss you." He whispered into the back of Pete's hand.
"I know." Pete answered, his tone soft and light. "I will too." Then, he slowly stood up. Vegas remained in his spot, still holding on to Pete's hand. He looked up at the other.
"I love you." He never got to say those three words before Pete's accident. But saying them now, it felt like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. The widening of Pete's smile just made it all the more comforting.
"Silly." Pete chuckled out, giving Vegas' hand one last squeeze, before letting go. "I've always known that."
Then the glaring of the sunlight returned, causing Vegas to raise a hand to block it out. When he lowered it back down, Pete was gone.
And that's when Vegas was able to take a proper look of where he was. His eyes lit up in recognition. There was no beach, just a long patch of grass. The road was just a few meters next to him, and it was the same road where he saw Pete for the first time.
Vegas remembered how he was there to do some test shots, when he had stopped in his tracks. Blocking his way, was a stranger sitting in the middle of the road, a sketchbook on his lap and staring up at the sky. He remembered asking what the other was doing and the answer that was given to him so matter-of-factly.
"I'm imagining if the sky was purple instead of blue."
When he asked why, the other had just turned to look at him with an amused expression. "Because why not?"
Right then and there, Vegas had thought that Pete was the most beautiful person he had ever met.
A gust of wind blew by and Vegas took one last look around, before standing up. He felt different now. He felt better.
He felt as if returning back to his and Pete's apartment wasn't as daunting as it once was. Of how he finally had the courage to look at the paintings left behind. He could also finally call back all his friends, to reassure them that he was okay. That they should stop by sometime, so he could see them all.
He now knew why he ended up here. He was looking for a place to breathe. Just like the way Pete would breathe life into him.
Vegas took a deep breath, and it wasn't as difficult as it once was.
He could breathe.
And it was because he knew that the traces of Pete in this world were helping him do so.
He could breathe.
"You really need to stop taking pictures of me."
"Nope. It's my camera. I can do what I want. And what I want is countless pictures of the most beautiful person in the world."
"Ugh. Fine. As long as you don't come crying to me once you run out of space on your memory card.
"Never.”