Chapter Text
NOTE: English isn't my first language, please be kind. <3
With the arrival of winter, the coastline had been abandoned to its loneliness. The waves crashed against the pebble, covered shore beneath heavy, dark clouds, and even the rocks couldn’t stop the overflowing water from spilling onto the asphalt. An old concrete house stood close to the sea, its paint streaked, its walls mottled with patches of algae; an unintentional source of inspiration for those passing by on the street.
But no one knew that behind the house, at the corner of fences wrapped in wet wood, a young man was waiting.
As the wind tangled his hair even further, Xiao wrapped his fingers around his cigarette and pulled the poison deep into his lungs, as if he were trying to inhale warmth instead of smoke.
He scanned his surroundings. He listened to the loud cries of the seagulls, watching them dance in flocks over the sea, letting himself enjoy it for a moment. His bag rested on the ground by his feet, leaned carefully against a dry patch untouched by the water.
The message he had received had been so unexpected that it drove him to skip school and walk nearly five kilometers to the shore. And it hadn’t even been an explanatory message.
notventi:
Hey, if you’re free, could we meet after school?
Xiao stared at the phone screen for a while.
He scrolled through the string of incoherent messages sent the night before, clearly written in a haze of exhaustion.
As he thought about how stupid he must have looked, he crushed the finished cigarette against the wet wood beneath his foot.
itsxiao:
I don’t want to meet.
notventi:
I do.
itsxiao:
I don’t. Find someone else.
notventi:
Please?
itsxiao:
It doesn’t work anymore.
notventi:
I still have few of your things. I want to give them back.
itsxiao:
Throw them away, Ven.
You know you don’t need to keep them.
notventi:
I know…
itsxiao:
Then?
notventi:
Will you stop being stubborn just once?
itsxiao:
I.
Don't.
Want.
To.
notventi:
I do.
Venti had never been particularly confident. Usually, a rejection was enough for him to accept the situation and look for other options. So Xiao assumed there had to be another reason behind this persistence. Did he want to get back together?
The breakup had been his idea.
Wanting to return now would be absurd.
Besides, Xiao had spent months unable to leave his room, unable to eat.
He couldn’t fall back into the same cycle—not again.
Even if the thought alone made his heart pound painfully in his chest…
With a sigh, Xiao slipped his phone into his pocket. That was when he felt movement in the fence he was leaning against.
When he looked up, he saw Venti walking toward him, stepping carefully over the dry parts of the fence, his expression focused. His hair was styled the same way as Xiao’s, only shorter. Two long strands at the front were dyed blue, just like they used to do together.
But Xiao hadn’t touched his hair since the breakup. The wavy strands had grown out, tangled, the blue fading into a sickly green at the ends.
Venti had known he would find Xiao there the moment he turned the corner. He’d felt his presence even before crossing the street. But now, standing face to face, all the courage he’d gathered shattered.
Xiao smelled of alcohol and tobacco. He wore an old sweater, the logo beginning to fade. His school bag lay at his feet, decorated with a colorful flag and a pin badge. Venti, on the other hand, carried his signature scent—clean, expensive. He wore a dark green jacket over a cream-colored t-shirt, his favorite Converse on his feet. The guitar he always carried hung from his back; he’d probably skipped his lesson.
“Thank you for coming,” Venti said, taking a step closer.
Xiao refused to climb over the fence, as if Venti were a stranger he wasn’t allowed to stand beside. If circumstances hadn’t forced it, he would never have seen him again—especially after everything he’d said.
“You’re the one who called me here,” Xiao replied.
Xiao was always cold because of vitamin deficiency. He dressed in layers, hands buried in his pockets, just like now.
“Sorry I made you skip school,” Venti said, searching for a dry spot before carefully sitting on the fence.
“You knew I’d come.” Xiao’s voice was as cold as the air itself.
He hated himself for it. He’d been crushed through messages, insulted, slapped. And yet, he’d still wanted to make sure his former lover—the person he’d spent years with—was okay.
It was their curse.
No matter what, they always circled back to each other.
Ending their relationship had been their attempt to break that cycle.
Venti stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground. The shore was lined with thousands of stones in endless colors. As waves slipped between them, the colors shimmered. Smaller stones were tossed by wind and water, colliding with larger ones, producing hollow sounds.
“Why did you call me, Venti?”
Venti swallowed audibly. He’d always been quiet, or at least tried to be.
Xiao no longer knew the difference.
The person he’d once cherished so fiercely now felt hollow before his eyes.
And the one sitting beside him was nothing more than a familiar name.
“I want to give you something.”
Though Venti was shorter than Xiao, sitting on the fence put them nearly at eye level. He pulled his guitar case forward and opened the small zipper on the front pocket. Xiao stood a few steps back, unable to see what he was doing. When he saw the old cassette tape being offered to him, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then he let out a half smile: “Do I look like an antique shop from over there?”
“No,” Venti said clearly, still holding the cassette out. “But I remember your room clearly.”
He was right.
Xiao loved vintage consoles and vinyl records. That was why his parents had gifted him a projector and turned the attic into a secret base where he could spend time with friends.
After convincing them that Venti was just a friend, they’d stayed over countless times, playing games, talking, building a world of their own.
“What is this? An early birthday gift?” Xiao asked.
Venti smiled. “No, but I planned that too.”
Hearing things like that after their breakup made Xiao furious.
“Here,” Venti said, extending the tape again. When Xiao didn’t respond, he leaned down and slipped it into Xiao’s bag instead.
“Whatever it is, I’ll throw it away when I leave.”
“You won’t.”
“Excuse me?” Xiao raised an eyebrow.
“You won’t,” Venti repeated. “Because this is the only thing left of us.”
Xiao felt the anger inside him rising.
“Venti,” he warned. “We broke up.”
“I know.”
“You broke up with me”, he corrected silently. “I couldn’t pull myself together for months. I still can’t even go up to the attic because your things are there—”
“Sorry...”
It was quiet. Dry. Loveless.
“Your apology doesn’t change anything! You can’t just drag me here and leave me with a shitty cassette without explaining anything!”
Venti stayed silent. He knew speaking would only make things worse.
Ten minutes passed in silence. Xiao filled them by lighting another cigarette. Eventually, he climbed over the fence and sat beside Venti, leaving space between them.
“Are you having trouble at school?”
“No.”
“Is it your mom?”
“No.”
“Do you want to get back together?”
“No…”
“Then what the fu—” Xiao stopped himself, drawing in a deep breath.
“I just wanted to give you the tape,” Venti said finally, lifting his gaze. His eyes were like the sea before them, neither green nor blue.
“That’s it?”
“I don’t have anything else left to say,” he whispered.
Xiao was speechless.
He wanted to scream, to grab his hand and drag him back in time. To remind him of their first projects, the nights they laughed until dawn. To show him the moments of forgiveness, of celebration, of love still burning in his chest.
They could fix this. They just needed effort.
Venti smiled faintly. He stood and turned toward Xiao, extending his hand, hoping he wouldn’t take it.
Xiao reached out instinctively. If he grabbed it, if he pulled him close, wouldn’t everything be okay again?
But then he remembered the promise he’d made to himself. He pulled his hand back, pressing his fist against his chest.
“Thank you for coming, Xiao.”
His eyes shimmered.
Was he crying?
After everything, he didn’t even have the right to cry.
Xiao said nothing. As the day darkened, Venti remained silent too, watching him.
“I’m really sorry. For everything.”
Those were his final words before he climbed over the fence and ran away, his shoes pounding against the stones. Only wet wood separated them—but Xiao already felt the presence of an invisible wall.
And his mind screamed that something was about to break.
Xiao ran home through the pouring rain, clutching his bag as if it held his entire existence.
After all, Venti had touched it.
By the time he reached the door, his hands were shaking so badly he missed the keyhole several times, scratching the wood. When he finally got inside, he shut the door quickly. The house was dark and quiet. Only the washing machine hummed somewhere in the back. His mother must have gone out. He took the stairs two at a time, slammed his bedroom door shut, locked it, then dragged the ladder into place and pushed open the attic hatch. Dust spilled down, making him cough, but he climbed up anyway.
The attic no longer felt like his. Venti’s things were everywhere.
An old television sat in the corner.
A colorful flag hung between the beams.
A leather armchair from his father’s office was draped with Venti’s favorite blanket.
Cassette tapes were neatly stacked in transparent boxes.
Worst of all: Venti’s heavy perfume was still there.
Xiao choked on dust the moment he stepped inside. The place he’d once cared for so meticulously had been abandoned—just like him.
Without thinking, he plugged in every loose cable. Turned on the LED lights. Started the heater.
Finally, he connected the cassette player to the TV.
He dropped his wet books onto the chair and rushed to insert the tape.
The screen flickered, static crackling. Then an image appeared.
Xiaoven.
The screen crackled again.
Venti’s room appeared—shot with better quality.
“Hey,” the voice said. “I hope this is recording.” He wore a beige short-sleeved shirt, too big for his frame. “Today is… October nineteenth. Um… as you can see, I’m in my room…”
He adjusted the camera and sat at the edge of the bed. His hair was cut short, but the blue remained.
Xiao instantly noticed the dozens of pill bottles on the nightstand. A large machine sat to the side, wires everywhere.
His body tensed.
“If this tape reached you… it means I couldn’t say what I really wanted to tell you.”
Venti smiled painfully. The screen glitched, pixelated.
Then steadied.
He pulled out his phone and turned it toward the camera.
At the top: Xiao’s account.
Below: an empty message box.
Drafted words:
notventi:
I’m dying.
Failed to send.