Plastic Waltz

missingday1

Jongdae finds himself having small breakdowns here and there, random hours on a typical work day where he suddenly finds himself rushing off to the faculty’s restroom after an exhausting class to curl up in one of the cubicles; knees up his chest, and the back of his hand against his lips, all muffled sobs, and hushed tears, and just desperate, desperate crying to rip the ache and whatever’s gotten into him out. Times in the day when his chest would hurt, and he can’t think any further because his mind’s either too blanked out or too muddled up with almost hardwired thoughts of being unable — incapable of anything.

He hasn’t been happy lately, he thinks. He hasn’t been himself lately, he knows. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he admits – and perhaps, that’s what he feared the most. Something’s spiralling out of control, something’s missing, something’s empty, something’s not where it should be, something’s not right, something’s off and has gone wrong, and Jongdae can’t help but think that it must be him — in him, because where else could it be?

Jongdae realized this when his little brother had asked to be driven to the beach so they could watch the sunset together. Sweet, little Jongin, who’s always had an appreciation for anything tinted with warm hues, who’d love any place as long as he could feel the wind blowing against his skin — said it reminded him of someone that he really likes at school.

(“The wind reminds you of someone?” Jongdae smiled. Jongin nodded, with a toothy smile, eyes gleaming with warmth and all things Jongin — But where Jongdae usually feels the fondness, Jongdae tastes emptiness instead. The bitter emptiness, the one he’d been hoping to flush out all day, all week.

“He told me that the wind will come if you whistle!” Jongin beamed, before he had tried to whistle himself, lips rounding, and cheeks puffed — though the only sound that had come out was the whoosh from an unsteady stream of air.)

It hadn’t been an intense realization as far as Jongdae could remember; rather, it had been quiet, far quieter than what Jongdae had expected from realizing that he’d been incomprehensibly sad this whole time. When the sunset didn’t feel warm against his skin like it used to, when the shore breeze didn’t feel as fresh as it used to; Jongdae had bitten his lip, jaw clenched as he willed himself to feel the intensity he should’ve naturally felt, seeked the longing that had always been there. But whatever had been wrong with him resorted to some sort of numbness instead, and that’s what Jongdae felt for the rest of the evening.

He didn’t like it. Being numb felt lonely — but it was better than the clawing desperation, better than tears springing out of nowhere.