No feelings | JamFilm

As if...

Through the windows, the sun's rays gently fell onto the tiles, illuminating a part of the kitchen. Sleep had not left the closed eyelids of the man who sat behind the bar counter, trying to read the incoming message. A small wrinkle was visible between his eyebrows, which had settled there since the moment Film had gotten out of bed. He shivered from the early morning chill, but he didn't bother to put on a sweater, remaining in just a white shirt with the buttons undone. Jam always scolded him for his carelessness.

"You'll get sick if you keep sitting like that," he would say, furrowing his brows in dissatisfaction. Then, he would pull the man closer to himself and fasten each of the buttons, while Film allowed him to, holding his breath in anticipation. He liked it. This tenderness in someone else's eyes captivated him, this excitement made his heart tremble.

He had been lost for a long time — irreversibly. But he couldn't ask for more.

He had no right.

"No feelings," he said with a smile, shaking hands with the new colleague for the first time. The colleague merely raised an eyebrow in surprise, silently studying the man before him. In his gaze, there was incomprehension, but maintaining a serene expression on his face, he simply replied:

"No feelings."

He had cornered himself into this situation. He was the one who didn't desire any relationships behind the scenes. He had no inkling that he was still capable of love.

He truly had no idea, otherwise, he would never have made such a mistake.

Hearing the boiling kettle, Film let out a heavy sigh, setting the phone aside and pouring coffee. Black. Without sugar.

He loved and hated the morning simultaneously. In those moments, he relished the waking city and the scent of coffee. He reveled in the quietude. It seemed that thoughts in the mornings coalesced into something unified: in the evenings, he was engulfed in the depths of his own emotions, but in the morning... In the morning, everything seemed to have a different shade.

But the pain of regret had settled too deeply. Lately, the man woke up with anxiety, feeling his heart shatter from tears frozen within his chest. And each time he woke up, it was getting colder. As if...

As if he were simply dying.

As soon as Film entered the building, a cup of coffee appeared in his hands. Pausing for a moment, he blinked in bewilderment, still not fully awake from his slumber. Then, he shifted his gaze to Jam, who was calmly looking at him.

"What's this?" he asked, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears. Thump. Thump. With each passing second, it grew louder. Faster.

"Your coffee. You love this café, don't you?" Jam explained nonchalantly, taking a sip from his own cup. He then turned abruptly, heading down the corridor towards the filming set. It was only at that moment that Film realized he had been standing there the whole time, afraid to even take a breath.

As if...

As if he was afraid that all of this was a dream.

"Do you fear falling?" one evening, after a long day of shooting, Jam inquired. Film was too tired to lie, and he couldn't, not to Jam. Just encountering his stern gaze was enough for Film to spill all his most horrifying secrets.

"Yes," he replied, gazing at the night sky where a vast cluster of stars was visible. This moment felt beautiful. Perhaps Film was a romantic, for how else could he describe the madness of becoming vulnerable beside the person from whom he concealed all his feelings?