Chapter Text
The summer months feel so close, yet the warmth could never be more unfamiliar. Eleven days after 2022 turned into 2023, and Valentino still doesn’t believe it.
After an uneventful New Years, he had spent most of his time moping around and avoiding dates and calendars. He rarely goes outside anymore, only leaving his apartment for work. Maybe the deep hole he’s sunk into is because of the lack of sunlight, or maybe it’s because it’s fucking January 2023 already.
He doesn’t believe it. He can’t believe it. Time moves too fast, he concludes, because surely it was only a week ago when the sun was shining against his back, bright and eager and blinding. Surely, surely he was still attending that University, that dorm, that beautiful chasmal fall, that too-fast fluttering summer. Yet the winter air bites at his skin all the same, and the warmth has already been wringed out of his hardened skin.
—-
He stares at his phone, not sure what to do. He’s spent the better part of his morning doing nothing. It’s only been a couple of minutes in his mind, yet the time reads 11.49 am. January 17th.
The date makes him want to puke, vomit, kill himself. It fills his lower abdomen with an uneasiness, a sinking dread that lingers with him in his sleep.
He needs to leave. Do something.
Really, he really doesn’t want to. He wants to stay in his bed and waste away the hours, but his stomach growls pitifully— that he can ignore, he’s been ignoring it long enough— but also, also, his sleep medication has run out, the orange pill bottle run empty. And really, going out will be good for him, he thinks. He rationalizes. His legs ache and scream as he pulls himself out of his bed, dragging his corpse along the floor to the reflective glass counting his failures.
Valentino stares into the mirror, into the hollows under his eyes and the pale shade his skin has been washed into. His mouth draws into a line, hand raising to trace the paths of his cheekbones. He can’t look for much longer. He’s still half-naked.
He looks through his drawer for something to wear, trying to choose randomly, brain too tired for more. But of course, random chooses his old university sweater. He pulls it out hesitantly, staring at the fading logo. Sleeves fraying, color washed out. He puts it on nonetheless, movements automatic, practiced. It’s still a little boxy around the shoulders, and his scent has worn off long, long ago, but the comforting, fleeting feelings sends him back all the same, and another wave of twisted nostalgia rolls over him and takes him under miles and miles of water.
Don’t think about it.
It’s warm. That’s all.
Don't think about him.
Valentino wrings his hands, splashes water on his face. He doesn’t bother doing anything with his hair, really doesn’t bother with anything before he leaves his apartment.
The cold air greets him like a spiteful enemy. A lost lover.
He makes his way to the pharmaceutical store, a path he’s memorized, trekked on countless times. The texture of the sweater’s cuffs is soothing, a solid barrier against outside cold. His fingers automatically play with the stitching, nails digging and pulling the fabric.
He’s lost in thought, too much painful thought, when a realization returns him back to the outside world. It’s still cold, too cold, but it’s that type of dry cold.
It’s strange that his feet took him in the wrong direction. Not to the pharmacy, but to a place even more engrained in his soul.
He looks up at the university library, at the two stone lions mocking him as the first snow of the new year dances its way down, finally resting against his hand. He stares, unblinking, as the snowflake melts into his warmth.