Chapter Text
phainon’s gaze lingers on the window, watching carefully as the bleeding blues of the sky taint the inside of his room. the smell of antiseptic can be felt in the back of his nose, burning away and clogging his body with chemical thickness. he balls his hand into small fists, muscles trembling as he exhales. the clouds were moving slowly, looking more like sheep grazing the fields than balls of water.
its been a long week.
he has lost track of time. it feels like wednesday but the calendar on the wall says its friday. bringing up his hand, he presses them to his eyes, shielding his vision from the shimmering light outside. the only thing he was sure of were these scars—the same ones that haunt his every waking morning. the first thing he does every morning is to glance at his arm, wondering if one day, these lines will disappear. they’ve spread across his milky skin, remaining there like shattered planets. some spots were lighter than others. some were dark and bruised. they were engrained inside, carving a memory full of grief and despair.
the doctors look at him with pity. they shake their heads, whispering to each other while they scratched off their checklists. its a shame, they would say, he was a promising young guy. he could feel the nurses stare at his arms longer than usual, scanning for any movement in his muscle. they used to give him cheerful smiles. at least, until they looked further down, and saw cracks of blood seeping through his thin scrub. their reactions would sour his appetite. not that he had one to begin with.
after all, their faces tell the same story.
despite his achievements in university, having led a few successful organizations as president, phainon felt the weight of disappointment on his shoulders. he was simply too tired to care anymore. exhausted of all his flames and passion to live. he hates waking up to the scorching sun, for it is too bright and encapsulating, unbefitting of someone like him. the moon is no better either. he hates that even in bed, he cannot escape its gentle beam, trying to lure him into a peaceful sleep. he hates that no matter how hard he tries, there was nothing to be proud of. no amount of work can make his existence valuable. he was one drop in the ocean. one person in a planet that housed millions. life was too dull. too mundane. too much for him.
he felt unfit to live in a world destined for greater things.
if he had died that very day, inside his secluded apartment building, he wouldn’t need to suffer. he could have been a hero—giving up his organs to the next donor on the list. even if they will never remember his name, at the very least, he would have served a purpose. a reason. something to cling onto. but alas, he survived, with a major head injury and a few sprained joints that left him bedridden for two weeks.
even when he is holding onto his face, pinching at the sides with his nails in the hopes of tearing his skin off, he couldn’t cry. he wept for too long. too much to the point he couldn’t feel anything. his river had long dried up. burned away into ashes. while that expression leaves him wondering if it was possible to die by fire—he shakes his head, knowing well it would be too much work, and would only drag others down with him. right now,
he was no better than a hollowed out corpse, waiting to be put into the ground. he was an empty shell of someone who shouldn’t have existed in the first place. these thoughts cause his body to tremble, a sharp hiccup breaking from his throat.
why couldn’t he die? why was he still here, with nothing more than a slow, steady pulse keeping him alive? he is tired. so tired. so frustrated. and so exhausted out of his mind. he wants to disappear. pop into small bubbles. fade away into the back of everyone’s mind like a dream—but that all sounds so selfish. the nurses weren’t subtle in their gossip. he knew that in the corner of the room, when no one was looking, they would huddle together, and talk about how sad it would be if a man like him passed. not only would he bring pain and misfortune to those around him, it was a huge burden. planning a funeral, sending invitation cards, days of grievance. it felt like there was no escaping this life without hurting someone.
there was a weight on his back. one that could rival atlas himself. he doesn’t want to carry this anymore. he doesn’t want to wake up in the morning, having to brush his teeth and pretend that everything was fine. he doesn’t want his friends or family to know how much of a failure he is, and how much of their efforts have been for nothing—wasted on a pathetic person such as himself. beneath his golden smiles hides the cracks of fragility.
he should be basking in success. be a little more proud than the average person. he was a good scholar. worked so hard to reach the top of the social leaderboard. everybody knew his name. knew who he was. knew how great of a person he could be. his name was plastered all over his workplace, congratulating him on his promotion. he kept an ear out for any woeful friend, cradling them in his arms, but still covering up his scars with a suffocating black, long sleeve. he did everything a saint would have done and yet its not enough. its never enough. not for him.
love can’t wash away the dirt in his veins. praise doesn’t resolve his sins. he’s racked through his brain several times already, trying to pin point the exact moment where everything felt different for him.
he hates the person he is. he hates that deep inside, there was nothing he could do to quell the rage. he was a body full of anger and pity. he had every urge to lash out, to crash his fists against the wall and kick trash cans like a little child throwing a temper tantrum. but he was too rational. too smart. too clever. he couldn't do anything rash. it’ll bring too much attention if he simply acted out. he doesn’t want that. so he stays quiet. biding his time until his life withers away.
in this quiet space, phainon looks back on his memories, recalling a time when this poor waiter try to clean up the spill he made over his favorite shirt, he had to keep it inside. call it an accident. another bad day. anything that will make him and the waiter in front feel better. after castorice cleaned up the remaining mess, phainon felt like he wanted to cry. he wanted to drag himself into a hole and stay there until he became one with mother earth. it was just a drink. it happens. things like this happen all the time. but at the moment, it was just the cherry on top of an already bad day.
he feels so pathetic. so stupid. feeling all of these mixed emotions and acting so childishly. he was a man for gods sake. he should be over it already. his friend cleaned up the mess. they still laughed and had fun. everybody was having a good time. so why couldn’t he? why couldn’t he let things be? was the self-hatred in his heart too much to bear? was it starting to leak and show? all of these racing thoughts were too much for him. and in a moment of panic, his eyes make contact with the one thing he could get his hands on.
a precision blade made it so easy it sickens him. it was supposed to be a small cut, something to start off and quiet the screaming voices. but it was so scary. he was used to gore from horror movies—yet when it came from his own body, his own flesh and blood, dripping down his forearm in waves, it made him run to the bathroom and puke his guts out. he still remembers how salty his tears were when they rolled down to his lips. still remembers how sticky the blood was when he was still kneeling, trying to rest and piece together his mind—yet it kept flowing until it covered his bare thighs as well.
he deserved this.
that was his last thought before sitting in the shower, letting the water wash away the dried up blood that had already oxidized. he remembers resting his head on the side of the tub. he closed his eyes before his phone slipped out of his hands and onto the damp floor.
phainon blinks awake at the sound of someone knocking. the plain door opens and his primary doctor marches through. he had a clipboard pressed tightly to his chest, a gentle smile resting on his face as he pushes up his glasses. he looked like any other doctor on television. the sight was too familiar to a show he used to watch on his phone whenever he was lying in bed, waiting for the day to go by. it made his entire experience at the hospital feel more like a dream than reality. he used to come alone, however, with the second shadow behind him, he wonders if its a nurse.
“my apologies, mr. khaslana. it seems like you’ll be having a temporary roommate for a while,” his doctor approaches his side, careful not to look down onto his bandaged arms. “our hospital right now is overbooked. rooms are scarce now. while we are handling our new cases, you’ll be sharing this room with another patient. she’s the same age as you—just a little more… boisterous.”
“however, rest assured, she won’t be any bother to your stay here. again, i am deeply sorry for encroaching on your personal place, but please understand—”
phainon shakes his head, “i get it, you don’t have to explain any further.”
the man gratefully sighs. it seems like there was a lot of stress in making this decision. it has phainon feeling even more guilty knowing that his presence caused this much of a headache. nevertheless, he stares silently as another woman wheels someone into the room. the new patient was bouncing in and out of her seat, eyes flickering around the room in curious glee. a third person hurriedly brings another bed, shoving it against the opposite side. rather than accept this new fate peacefully, the girl struggles against the arms of her caretaker, pushing her with as much force as she can.
“i don’t want to sleep here! i want to be close to the window! how can i see the sky from here, when there is nothing to look at? hysilens! stop!” she cries out, “can you at least ask him if he can move? trade beds with me? anything?”
“don’t be such a bother. you’re lucky to be sharing a room with someone right now,” your caretaker, hysilens, was doing everything she could not to shake your head around. taking care of you was more of a hassle than she originally anticipated. when she signed up to assist patients at the hospital, she didn’t know she would be given the most troublesome one of all.
instead of swallowing your pride, you glared at her and phainon. curse this room. curse everybody! he could see in your expression a flame that reminded him of his friends. it was sweet. so much so that it was starting to melt his heart. the man laughs very softly, as if the air itself was too thin, “if she wants to trade, i don’t mind. she could sit here by the window.”
due to his sudden agreement, hysilens gasps, “i am so incredibly sorry. we don’t want to be a bother to you. besides, this was originally your room! it was already rude of his to intrude.” she reaches out to pinch the side of your ear, “besides, she is just a little whiny after her recent surgery. it would be best to let her be for now.”
“its okay. i don’t mind, really.” phainon smiles, just like he practiced in the mirror dozens of times. it always did wonders in getting people off his back.
and while hysilens never noticed the difference, your eyes flickered like faulty lights. your lips press themselves tightly together, hesitating over your words. however, the temptation was too great, even for a girl like yourself. reaching out to touch hysilens’ sleeve, you pull with all your might to bring her closer, “he said its okay! we can trade beds!”
hysilens tries not to sigh again. she should have expected this outcome. you were much too persistent. “you’re restless,” she comments, taking your wheelchair and bringing you forward. again, your body immediately started to bounce and quiver with unbridled excitement. for a second, it makes phainon’s heart a little more at least. he did a good thing today.
hysilens nods in phainon’s direction, and he wordlessly leaves the comfort of his sheets. his footsteps pad against the cold ground and he stares—a problem that he had long been accustomed to. your smile grows even brighter when you reach the window. the moment you were helped onto the bed, you hurriedly reach to touch the cold surface of the glass.
right when you were about to get lost in the vast blue skies, you see the long string of bandages across phainon’s body. it covers every inch of his skin beneath his gown. considering how easy it was for him to move, it was far from any burn scar you recognized in other rooms. it was a lot more intimate. something that could easily be dismissed had you not been staring hard enough.
despite the tiredness in your eyes, you could see scars peek beneath his wraps. they dragged across every vein, the light reflecting a slight purplish hue that reminded you of bruises. even without words, you knew they were telling a story. your body relaxes itself, fingertips dragging across the glass as the skies try to touch you with its blue glow.
your lips were framed perfectly—just as a gentle look washes over you like ocean waves. you turn back towards him, eyes swallowing up the darkness in the room.
“thank you, khaslana,” you say, “your room is beautiful.”
the window that allows the sun to touch your skin gave you a radiant shine. there was a slight fuzz to your appearance, like a dream phainon had conjured up in his hazy mind. a picture couldn’t capture every detail of your innocence. it was too soft. too tender. too much for someone like him. you wielded this ball of hydrogen and helium, curving its flames to tickle the sides of your face, giving phainon a scene that was out of a picture book.
under your inviting gaze, he finally allows himself the chance to breathe.