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Time is a fleeting thing with wings that soars out of reach whenever soft fingers try to grasp it desperately.
Those were the only words his brain could conjure for what seemed like hours, as the incessant tik-tak of the analogical clock marked the rhythm of his feeble breathing.
His mind was foggy and every inch of his body hurt as if it had been pierced by a thousand knives. The headache had subsided for a while, allowing him a moment of respite among the choked sobs and uncontrolled tremors. His bones seemed to crack like a thunderous typhon whenever he dragged his haggarded body inside the covers and blankets to make himself feel as small as possible. His long arms holding his cold frame with strenuous force to maintain the severed pieces conforming his puzzle and in an attempt to prevent it from breaking completely.
The tears had already dried up in the pillow and only the dim pink lights of his room casted shadows among the darkness. His computer, long forgotten after it ran out of battery and he realised he did not have the energy to find the charger, somewhere in the bed. Chaos had ensued at some point and engulfed most of his always-clean-room, in a physical manifestation of the mental state that flooded his life in the last few weeks.
To say that it had not been easy, was an understatement. It never was easy and he knew that it would never be, for such is life and all the experiences that come with it. Unfortunately, having that knowledge did not prevent him from still falling into the deepest pit of hell time after time again. And hoping that at some point the pain would stop completely, or that his body would become numb to the sensations, to the overwhelming feelings, to life; even if Chan knew that was the worst possible outcome of them all.
Sorrow, grief, torment and nothingness mixed (and found home) in his constricted chest, taking turns to wash over him like some unavoidable waves, as the others hovered around his frame, waiting hungrily for their turn to wreck him.
All of this, he felt as distant echoes while drifting in his slumber. At times fully awake and aware of his soul drowning in the deep end, yet without the power to do anything else but observe. At times, just gone.
Absent-minded. His body, an empty shell of his past self as the days, months and years went on.
But then… Then, a blazing warmth encompasses and revives his form. Defined and gentle arms encircle his frame with a tenderness that brings tears to his eyes and, he knows.
He knows the whole stars have fallen from the night sky for him, a billion constellations of lights and heat, his sole purpose, his shooting star, his sunshine, his home.
Felix.
“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” his boyfriend asks softly in a whisper against his nape. His little fingers, rubbing reassuring circles on his bare arms as their bodies meet inside the blankets. The sudden contact makes Chan shudder, but the softness of Felix’s cotton hoodie and being, makes him melt instantly in his embrace. A place he has come to know with excruciating detail over time. A constant safe place in the jarring, edged world they live in.
Being held in his arms, being taken care of, feeling so fragile, vulnerable and small in his presence without judgement, questions or twisted conditions; allowing Felix to see and comfort this part of Chan that so few people were able to truly perceive, and much less meet… meant everything for both of them. A fleeting thing they had hidden from the prying eyes of the public. A moment, suspended in time, in which they could just be Chan and Felix. Two soulmates looking after each other, two friends being unconditionally there for each other, two boyfriends understanding and meeting each other’s needs, two unknown strangers discovering the vast universe again, two men deeply, utterly and painfully in love with each other.
Felix’s body radiates a warmth that seems to settle in Chan’s tired and icy bones in a way the weighted blanket was unable to provide. Felix’s hands travel his body carefully, pressing with expertise the bundle of knots in which Chan’s muscles had transformed, until his hands rest in his chest, just above Chan’s beating heart. His fingers gracefully follow the pattern of Chan’s heartbeat, acting at the same time, as the metronome by which soon his pulse will abide to a calmer rhythm. Soft lips press kisses in every inch of his exposed skin, healing momentarily the wounds that both have come to know very well.
“Is okay. I’m here. I’m here, baby. I got you” Felix mumbles, as his cavernous voice breathes out the most delicate, gorgeous and bewitching hums in existence, performing a melody only they know.
Soft whines escape Chan’s lips from time to time, but Felix is there to hold him harder, to bring him back to him, to them, again and again, selflessly and lovingly for as long as Chan needs. And so, they lay there in bed for hours, with Felix kissing his pained moans and resting his forehead on the extensive back of his boyfriend, making sure to mark a steady rhythm with his breathing for Chan to fall back into. Singing, caressing and listening to the silent cry of his boyfriend’s heart as the night goes by, never forcing him to get out of bed to eat despite knowing he has skipped meals regularly since Felix left for a schedule, listening attentively whenever Chan stammers some words out, rocking their bodies back and forth, as if driven by the sea tide; wishing he could just take all the pain away from Chan, but being aware that the human heart and soul are not so simple.
Basking in the mere existence of his boyfriend and the certainty that even though now he was hurting, better, happier and brighter days will come.