until death | junhao ✔

2

He seemed to be getting better.

At least that is what Minghao told everyone. He acted like everything will be fine, as if he finally gained back his appetite too, and never telling anyone that he actually threw it all up when he had the chance.

No one noticed any change on him, he was satisfied with the mask he created and life went on...to everyone else, but he was still stuck in the same state, only now, he hid it very well.

He never thought something could hurt more than getting rejected by his crush, but when he had to experience his best friend's coffin getting laid in the ground, he was so broken, that he couldn't even react anymore. The cries of the people around him and the urge to cry but not being able to hurt him physically.

He stared out of his window as the wind played with his hair. He thought about him again. But when does he not think about him again? He can't seem to do anything else ever since that happened, but even before that, this was his favorite thing to do.

Sometimes he wished, he couldn't think of him, sometimes he wanted to forget him completely, although he couldn't do that even if he tried. Jun was too important for him.

Memories of the other playing with his hair, or hugging him, whenever they met, singing when he thought no one was listening (but Minghao was), playing videogames with each other, calling him late at night just to talk to him again for a few hours was dancing around his mind and all he could do was stare out of his window.

Rain drops raced each other down the clean glass, as he sat in front of it, the curtain hiding him from the empty space in the house, the glass keeping a little barrier from the peaceful outside world. It was 3 am again.

Funny how even the red lights of the alarm clock on his bedside table made him remember the older. How often they would just chat about literally anything when all of a sudden Jun would jokingly point out how it is already dawn and they should go to bed. Then the younger Chinese male would protest saying he isn't tired, but it could be easily heard from his timid replies and dropping voice. Then they would hang up, promising each other to sleep, but Minghao would always break it, messaging the other a good night, and they would sometimes send each other stupid memes and keep messaging until sunrise.

Countless time when they would just spend time with each other and cuddle, times when they would go and rent out a dance studio just to goof around, the younger just fooling around to make the other laugh, then when they would actually dance, he just watched Jun follow his steps and looking so effortlessly flawless.

But those times were over.

They faded away, staying as only memories they can't even recreate, can't ever replace with new ones.

A tear dropped down his pale face. His skin whiter than ever, like he was sick. But he was, after all. His soul was tired. So tired, he couldn't keep up with anything happening, and he had trouble getting up in the morning. It was so drained out of energy that he couldn't get himself to drink more than a cup of water in the morning.

No one noticed, as they all had their problems and still were sad just like Minghao. But they had their healthy boundaries.

He didn't want to tell anyone, even if he was starting to get crushed by the weight over his shoulder. So he visited the grave every evening, late at night, when no soul was near the cemetery, no person walking on the streets, and no cars speeding on the grey cement, and no person who could stop him from pouring his heart out to the ground, which his best friend was under.

" I wish you were here with me " He whispered in the wind, his throat thickening, breath getting slower and harder to take in. His blurry vision stopping him from getting a clear view of literally anything.

I can't take it, it's too much. I want it to stop.

...Someone help me.