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It hurts to suffocate. Asphyxiate. Lungs clogged. The weight of water. His clothes are heavy, his limbs heavier as they push through the waves. It’s so dark. That night the sky lacked stars. He fights, and fights, desperate to break though, to gasp air. But this body hasn’t been his for a while. He thinks of all the muscles and bones that make up his physical form, and the way that they have betrayed him, and the way that they betray him now. He should’ve known better than to trust it.
In the panic, something resembled relief.
–
When Gavi wakes, the world is quiet. There is no distant hum of mourning commute, whirring fans, ringing alarms, chattering people… none of that goes through the windows of Gavi’s apartment. He gets up, disoriented. A fog clouds his head. He doesn’t remember coming back from Andalusia. He only remembers the celebration, the drinks, the yawning ache in his chest, and then–
And then he remembers dying. He thinks that’s what it was, at least.
He looks around his room. It’s the same as it was the morning he left. He searches for his phone, on the nightstand, only to find the battery dead.
The pain in his head is overbearing. He leans out the window to feel the breeze, but pauses. Underneath, all is still. Every single car on the road is resolutely frozen. More than that, there was an absence of people. Usually, even in the morning, Madrid bustled with the early starters. But there was nothing. Dread sinks into Gavi. He remembers dying, he remembers drowning, and now he wakes in his apartment but nothing is right.
Is any of this real? He begins to hyperventilate. He scurries to plug the charger into his phone, hoping to call someone to deny his assumptions. Because if he is dead, he must be wherever the deceased go. Which happens to be more simple than anyone could expect. Because it seems as if he didn’t go anywhere– it seems like he was left behind.
The phone doesn’t turn on. His hands shake. He wishes to call his mom, or dad, to call–
Jude.
No, that wouldn’t be possible. He hasn’t called Jude in weeks. Not since–
He takes a deep breath. Runs a hand through his hair. He looks down at his clothes. He expects to find the clothes he wore last night, expecting to suddenly be sopping wet, but instead he’s in his pajamas. At least death has the decency to keep him dry. He gives up the phone.
Gavi moves to stand and grab his crutches, but what he realizes right away is that it doesn’t take as much effort to move. He looks down at his legs.
They move perfectly fine. To him, this is completely foreign. It’s been too long since he’s been able to move them like that. Immediately this confirms something is wrong. He paces around, now that he can, biting his nails.
He is dead. He is dead? Then how is everything so vivid? Why does it feel like nothing changed at all? At least, concerning his perception of things. The headache he woke with has faded, and all his senses work properly. In the midst of this, frustration bubbles up inside him. There must be a way out of this situation.
He slumps onto his bed. He glances at his wall, which has a clock stopped in time. Of course, time wouldn’t mean anything in the afterlife. But what really catches his attention is the calendar. He sits up quickly, peers at it closer. Then he darts towards it, snatching it off the wall.
Last night was his twenty-fifth birthday. The calendar was set back to a little bit more than a year ago. To the day it was confirmed that he wouldn’t be playing football ever again.
The day of his injury.
Was this some sort of sick joke his subconscious made up? He wasn’t even living in Madrid that day. He looks around the room to see if anything else is amiss. For just a second, his vision splits. In an instant, he’s in his old home in Barcelona, that same day where it all went wrong. Then in a blink he’s back to the apartment. He looks down at the calendar. The date is fixed. He drops it as if it burns.
So… death doesn’t let him have a peace of mind after all.
–
Gavi eventually walks out. He couldn’t stay put. Despite the blaring fact of the current wrongness, he can’t accept that any of this is happening. The air is stagnant. He kicks at a soda can, which sputters across the pavement and stops. It was the only noise for the past five minutes, besides his footsteps. The silence after is more apparent. He groans and shoves his hands into his pockets. He knows the path he’s walking. Something so sickeningly familiar. It’s the direction he would drive towards Jude’s apartment.
He stops. Despite everything, the first instinct he has while feeling anxious is to search for Jude. It’s a bad habit. He doesn’t have the right to ask for help after the things he’s said. He turns and heads towards a different direction instead. Not sure exactly what he’s looking for. He doesn’t think he’ll find anything, not really.
Madrid, he admits begrudgingly, is a beautiful city. He’s only lived here for about a year. It was an escape from Barcelona and everything he couldn’t have. And it is where Jude resides. He has to stop thinking about him, but it’s difficult. They lived together for most of his stay here, except for the last month or so.
There’s nowhere to go but he keeps walking. It’s still strange not to have his familiar support. Have they found his body yet? Has it washed ashore? Or is he gone from them forever, into the deep sea where his flesh will go soft and peel away from his bones…
It was supposed to be good going back home. To Andalusia. A week stay, another escape. That’s all it seems he’s capable of doing. He didn’t used to be this way. Problems were something he was proud to face. A quality he valued in himself. But he hasn’t been the same since football no longer welcomed him. At the very least he got to see his parents again, though they remained a bit cold, distant. He didn’t blame them. It probably hurts to look at a son that has fallen so much into disgrace.
Solutions to problems. Determination to see things through. That isn’t him anymore. Even walking down the street, he isn’t really looking to solve anything. Escaping, escaping, escaping. He’s hollow. There’s nothing left for him anymore.
Is there a point in all this? Is death a long winding self-imposed degradation?
It happens again. His vision splits and for a moment he’s standing in a stadium, a roar of the crowd rushing in, rushing through him, filling his veins with passion and heat. This is it. This is all he ever wants. And then it’s gone. He’s back to the empty street.
It crushes him to have a taste. It’s been so long since he’s played. The split second he was in the stadium felt so real. He squeezes the fabric over his chest, over his heart. This dead organ beats. So rapidly.
He goes back to his apartment.
–
There’s nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. Hours pass like molasses. Slow, dewy. He doesn’t care if there’s supposed to be some objective. What objective is there after dying? Strangely, the day passes too, into evening, and then eventually into night. And he closes his eyes. He sleeps.
–
Gavi sleeps but he doesn’t really. He doesn’t have a physical form. Instead he’s observing. He’s in a hospital room, and there on the bed is–
It’s him. Gavi sees his own body laying on the bed, all sorts of tubes and wires connected to him. Is this real? The heart monitor beeps steadily. There’s no one else in the room. It’s surreal. It isn’t like looking into a mirror. A strange unease comes over him. He steps closer– no, that’s not right. Gavi’s body somehow is closer, and Gavi can see how haggard he looks. Pale. Thinner. On the verge of death.
On the verge? He hasn’t fully tipped over to the other side? He can’t believe it, but the heart monitor tells no lies.
He doesn’t know how this is possible.
The door to the room opens. His parents. They walk in with defeated looks. He can’t stand the sight of their expressions. The hopelessness. Why did they give up so easily?
Why did they give up?
–
Gavi wakes abruptly. It’s still nighttime. Supposedly he’s in his room, but he can’t actually be, because he’s in the hospital. Someone must have seen him in the water. Saved him. This isn’t the afterlife, at least not entirely. He’s stuck in-between.
Throwing a pillow over his face, he screams all his frustrations out. There is no joy in finding out that he’s still alive. If he can even believe what happened. He wakes up from what looks like a coma, and then what? Continues living his purposeless existence? Viewed with contempt or pity for the rest of his life? There’s nothing for him. Nothing.
A pang hits him. This line of thought brings him back to the last conversation he had with Jude. He pushes it away.
So this world is his imagination. His subconscious. Possibly.
It doesn’t really make sense to Gavi.
Suddenly the room goes dark. Not a nighttime, natural dark. What occurs is an unnatural void encompasses the edges, and slithers towards him, surrounds him. He freezes. Warmth seeps away from him. This is it. Then, the void abates. It brushes back, and the room clears.
But he’s not in his Madrid apartment anymore.
He’s outside the clinic where he does physical therapy. There’s noise in the background, birds chirping, distant sounds of people moving, a car honking further away. But he’s alone in the parking lot. He holds the crutches firmly.
The sun is so comforting. He basks in it for a moment. He doesn’t want to go home. He can’t be here anymore. Not the clinic, not this city. He hasn’t talked to his former teammates in a while. His friends. It’s alright because they’re not dragging themselves around lost. Unlike Gavi, they’re training, and focused on their next matches. They send him texts he mostly responds to, but he doesn’t want to see them just yet. Can’t stand to see someone have what he’s lost.
He hates himself for that.
“Pablo?”
Gavi jumps in surprise. This isn’t how the memory goes. He hadn’t really spoken to Jude until he moved to Madrid. What had happened here was—
An overwhelming sense of loneliness. Struck so deep that even the comforting sun couldn’t soothe him.
Jude steps closer to him, but Gavi scoffs. “I’ve made you up to keep me company, haven't I?”
The mocking sound stops Jude’s hand from reaching out. It falls onto his side, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion. That’s something Gavi always liked about Jude. What he likes. Those open expressions that could be called sweet.
“What?”
Gavi shrugs. “You weren’t here to see me break down like a poor idiot,” he continues. “And you’re not going to either, even if you are fake.” He refuses to remember all the times the real Jude had seen him cry.
A smirk lifts the corner of Jude’s mouth. Fondness lingers in that smile, in those eyes. “I’m the one dreaming of you. You can’t call me fake.”
Again, remorse clutches his heart. Jude would always say he dreamt of him. ‘What was it about,’ Gavi would ask. ‘I can’t remember what happened,’ Jude would respond. ‘Just the feeling. I remember how it felt.’
Remorse clutches Gavi, but he hides it. He rolls his eyes, and stares straight ahead, hoping for this memory to end and for fake Jude to go away.
But the memory is lasting. What he felt then resurges. Despite how nice the world could look, through Gavi’s eyes everything dimmed. He’d always thought that as he grew the colors of his childhood had naturally faded, but he didn’t know until then that he still had some of it left. That the world still shone with some of that remaining innocence. It was like becoming an adult all over again. The world drains itself. Nothing is enough to stop the bad feeling.
Suddenly Jude pulls him, and Gavi presses against his chest and shoulders. He’s wrapped in warm, strong arms, just as comforting as the very sun that shone in the sky. It doesn’t make it go away. He still hates the situation he fell into, hates how his body betrayed him, and how he doesn’t see a future where he can be happy again. But Jude’s scent is so familiar, and Jude’s words are soft against his ears, against his hair, and though Gavi doesn’t focus on the meaning, the sound of them is enough.
He hugs him back, the clatter of the crutches nothing but background noise. Jude holds him up, holds him closer. Gavi closes his eyes against the burning tears.
When he opens them, they’re no longer outside. Music starts up, bass deep. Jude blinks around, as dazed as Gavi. He looks stupefied. Unwillingly, Gavi laughs. They’re at a club, with different colored lights sprawling all over them, and Gavi recognizes the song now. It’s what played when they first met— first met off the field, away from their profession. The start of what would be a fling that lasted a few weeks, which Gavi never thought about again for the next few years except when this song would play on the radio. When Jude’s Spanish still had that English accent, and their relationship didn’t have that heavy weight it currently does.
That moment when their eyes caught each other that day was the same as when Gavi was in the middle of an anticipatory attack during a match. Not in a competitive way, or as if it was all a game. It was like finding a moment of beauty, like when the sun is rising, the chords of a song rising the skin on your arms, running across the field, chasing what makes the moment all coincide into what could only be beauty. A sunrise, a chord, a goal, everything a motion that livens the soul. Meeting Jude’s eyes pulled him forward.
Looking into his eyes now does the same.
But before they could reach each other, Jude disappears from under his hands. Gavi stumbles forward, but he’s able to stand properly. He’s back in his room.
The silence is final.
—
Since there’s nothing to do, Gavi walks again, past everything. A brief impulse to grab a football and start practicing had pulsed through him, but he banished it away. He can’t have that again. None of this is real. A version of himself that can practice football without pain is false. Gavi won’t fall for anything false. He’s a bit of a hypocrite for going on this long walk, but this stems more from boredom than anything else.
This city doesn’t offer him much. It’s not his hometown, nor the place he played for. What it has instead is memories of Jude that he doesn’t want to deal with either.
What is he waiting for? Is he waiting to die? To wake up? None of those sound tempting. He doesn’t want to stay here, yet it’s the most fitting spot. In between life and death, all or nothing. Truthfully he feels like he already died. Dramatic, but the simplest way he can put it. Before he drowned, living had become both a slow, arduous day, and a year passing in a blink. Dull and unimportant. Even after he had started talking to his friends again. Conversations with Pedri had made him happy for a moment, but at night, bitterness scorned that happiness. Reconnecting with his parents should have been healing, but it had barely moved him. And Jude…
Jude was just a distraction.
Was.
Jude was under his hands, in this illusioned world, and disappeared. Like a light flickering out. Gavi doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to speak it.
It doesn’t matter anyway. He can live, and have people love him, and can love them in return, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t know himself. Sometimes he thinks he should have died in the accident. By mistake he survived, and what he’s been living for the past year was just a delay. He is angry about it, because when he stops being angry, he stops feeling at all.
Slow, arduous day.
Year passing in a blink.
–
The park is vast and green. He lays on the grass. Suddenly the smell of the trees and greenery appear, and he’s in the park he used to play in as a child. He stares up at the clouds, breathing slowly. There’s kids behind him, shouting and laughing, and the sound of a football being kicked around. He’s at peace. So much peace.
A void of whiteness crawls into his vision. He can let go now.
He sits up quickly. No more scent of grass or laughing children. His heartbeat races. Jude disappearing under his hands, peace encompassing him as a young child, the song that played on the radio, the public’s eyes diminishing him, Pedri calling despite the busy schedule, the shame, the desire for more.
There has to be more.
Slowarduousdayyearpassinginablinktherehastobemore.
What more could there be?
Under his hands, radio song, calls, more.
Who is he, who is he, who is he? Who is he if he can’t play? Who is he when he no longer has the peace of resting after a match? When the whole world is looking in on him, and writing a narrative, apparently knowing him better than he knows himself? When the shame of needing help hurts his pride. When the shame of–
(loving)
being with Jude swallows Gavi whole.
He is angry. Furious. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair to lose what he loved most, his strongest passion, purpose in life. It isn’t fair that he can’t function like he used to. It isn’t fair that his parents and the world peer into their relationship, something that had been his own private world. The last stings, because he had found that in the worst year of his life. He found something that should have stayed his, that belonged only to him, and no one was allowed to speak on it with their malicious intentions. Because it’s what he loved. Who he loves.
Right now, he could shut off the anger. He could blunt the emotions. Lay back down and accept it.
He stays angry.
But anger isn’t enough to wake up.
–
So he goes to sleep. But sleep isn’t sleep.
Like before, he is merely an observer. He sees his old teammates look at each other solemnly. Some barely hold back tears.
“He’s going to make it,” Pedri says, defiant and determined. “He doesn’t give up.”
No one says anything in response.
The world shifts. Jude is in a locker room, sitting on the bench, phone loose in his hand. There’s a blank look on his face. On the phone an article heading says, Former Barcelona player hospitalized after being rescued from nearly drowning at 2 am in the south of Spain. Status unstable.
Gavi groans– or he would if he had a body in these dreams. Even after his football career ended, the tabloids still talked about him. Though that could have been because of the recent outing of his and Jude’s relationship.
Jude doesn’t move.
Gavi realizes this was how he found out.
The world blurs once more and he’s back at the hospital room. His body lays limp. More family members come to visit, a time lapse of them entering and exiting flashes.
Everyone is out here and he is nowhere.
–
It was a mistake to nap on the grass. His body hurts, but emotionally he’s worse off. For once it isn’t because he’s lost something to the past, but because he’s missing the present. And he will miss the future too. During that sleep, he wanted to delve into the real world, reestablish himself into their presence. But instead they’re all slipping past him, sluicing right through his fingers.
He hugs his knees, and lays his head on them. The question of whether to stay or go starts to become ridiculous. Moping doesn’t fix anything, he knows this. Always knew this. But being upset doesn’t go away. Does he have the right to return to them? After he pushed them away, after he devalued them?
They would forgive and “understand”, but Gavi wouldn’t forgive them for that. That is his problem. He’s too stubborn and aggressive and he wants them to yell back, to scream at him, to fight him. That’s all he ever wanted. He wanted them to hurt him as much as he hurt them because otherwise it will always be unequal. And he wanted them to mean it too.
Because when Jude yelled at Gavi during their last fight, Gavi knew that it hurt Jude more. Jude didn’t want it to go that way. Jude didn’t want to speak the language Gavi spoke.
He remembers a conversation they had once, just thinking of that.
“How do you say this in English,” Gavi had asked, pointing at a text. He liked to ask Jude randomly either to better his vocabulary or simply hear his native tongue. But Jude had looked abashed. “Fuck. I forgot.” “You forgot?” “Yeah. Weird.” Gavi had stared at Jude’s crinkled eyebrows and pursed lips in thought. “You can forget a language,” Gavi had mused. He’d been mesmerized by this discovery. Jude had considered this. He was so deep in thought. Gavi surged forward and kissed him. Then he kissed his jaw, and his neck. The salt on his skin must always remain vivid. Speak into me, Gavi had said with those kisses. And I will speak into you. Jude, Jude, Jude. Jude had laughed into the sequent kisses, as if he was amused at Gavi’s intensity, but when he pulled back he told him he loved him.
Gavi aches.
–
He doesn’t return to his bedroom. Instead he’s standing at the beach. The waves lap in and out, and it’s the first sound this world gives him. Maybe because it’s so close to his death, a meeting point in two realities. At least it's daytime. He looks down at his clothes, and he’s in the fit he wore for the celebration.
His dad appears beside him. Gavi side eyes him. “Why are you here?”
“I’m not sure. I think I just miss my son.” He chuckles to himself, and watches the waves.
“I thought I wasn’t your son anymore,” Gavi grumbles.
“I never said that.”
“You implied it,” Gavi insists.
“Why’d you go in,” his dad hits him with the question without warning. It stuns Gavi. “And don’t tell me it was to kill yourself.”
Gavi doesn’t say anything for a moment. The ocean looms so large. So much water is contained on this earth. One day it won’t be contained. It’ll come crashing over the rocks and sand and land. They’ll all be drowned then, because how can it be contained? Pulling and pushing. Rising until it’s too much. How can Gavi contain it?
“To see if I could swim,” Gavi finally replies. “No, not to see. To prove it.”
“But you know you can’t,” his dad says, shaking his head.
“I was also drunk,” Gavi spits out. “Does that make you feel better?”
“No,” his dad responds. Then he cradles the back of Gavi’s head and kisses him on the forehead. For a split second, Gavi is a child, caught after doing something reckless that could’ve hurt him, and his father reprimanding him with an air of relief. When he’s back, Gavi's dad ruffles his hair.
Then he disappears. Gavi watches the sea alone.
–
Time stops existing. It is just Gavi and the sea and it’s been a while since someone has shown up or a memory has appeared. He doesn’t sleep either.
He’s afraid to forget. Will he be spending eternity in front of the sea, until all memories wash away, and the void takes him? That’s why he clings onto now. He doesn’t want to forget. Both the good and the bad. He clings onto:
After a few weeks officially moved to Madrid, Gavi messages Jude. He remembers how years ago Jude was a great distraction. They were rivals, and then they were fucking each other for a while, and then they were nothing. Gavi messages him because he is also lonely.
They meet at a niche cafe, and Jude looks awkward sitting across from him, which Gavi immediately dislikes.
“How have things been,” Jude asks.
“Not great,” Gavi responds. “But you already knew that.”
“Sort of. You’re handling things beautifully, though.”
Gavi frowns. “Stop with the bullshit PR response. I’m in crutches.”
“That doesn’t mean–”
“Shut up.” He’s being rude. Gavi knows. Jude will get fed up too, and leave, or maybe argue back. Gavi sort of wants an argument, but Jude doesn’t take the bait. Instead he sighs, and relaxes his shoulders.
“Gavi, why did you call?”
Gavi doesn’t respond. He taps his fingers on the table. The coffee he ordered goes cold. “Be honest with me,” Gavi says. “Would you kiss me if I asked?”
Jude wilts a little. “You’re not doing well.”
“What makes you say that?” he asks sarcastically. “Answer me. Would you kiss me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not what you want. You’re looking for something else.”
Gavi stares down at the table, imagining it tearing and ripping apart. Maybe the flying splinters will catch his eyes, scratch and bleed his skin. He looks back up at Jude. “I guess I’m not desirable anymore, am I?”
Jude bites his lip. He’s nervous, Gavi can tell. “That’s not it,” Jude says softly. For once, he’s telling the truth. Gavi knows because he’s not staring straight at his eyes, which sounds counterintuitive, but it’s true. If Jude lies, he lies confidently. “You’re always… someone I would want.”
Gavi’s heart skips a beat. Which was unexpected. “What?”
“Ever since then. Years ago. I know we’re practically strangers now, and it’s weird to say all this, but I feel like we won’t speak again anyway, so it’ll be like I never told you, but I have to tell you. Back then I didn’t say anything. Back then, I really…”
“Really?”
“Really, really loved you.”
Gavi’s face burns with a blush.
He clings onto:
It’s late at night but his phone rings. Pedri is calling. At first, Gavi would ignore him. How dare he try calling after not attempting to speak to Gavi the past months? But that day, for no particular reason, Gavi answered.
“Hello?”
“Gavi,” Pedri whispers. “You answered.”
Gavi hangs up.
The next night Pedri calls again, and Gavi lets the conversation flow, most of it mundane. Despite the fact that the conversation held no substance, after the end, Gavi’s chest hurts deeply.
Onto:
The living room is deathly quiet. They’d both seen it. A picture of the two of them caught sharing a soft kiss. Gavi feels so exposed. Like electricity ready to shock him. Like a shock of cold water to his face. A harsh slap. Unexpected, but irrefutable.
Jude tries to hold Gavi’s hand. Gavi snatches it away.
“Pablo,” Jude murmurs. “Stay with me.”
But Gavi isn’t there. He’s lost in his head. In the torrent of voices thundering his mind. They all know. They’re all looking at them. Looking. At. Them. Watching every move. His skin crawls. He feels so violated. He feels like they’re in that room with them. Laughing, whispering, snarling, grinning with lust, spitting with hate, convoluting what was precious and pure, tainting his love. Tainting what was his. What belonged only to him.
Gavi can’t even look at Jude.
“Go away,” he says.
It was taken again. It could never be given back.
Jude embraces him, and for a second, Gavi is about to sink in, and let the world fade away. But instead he shoves him off.
“I’m serious, Jude. I can’t do this anymore. It’s done. I’m sorry I fucking ruined your career too,” he rushes out.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Jude says, almost breathless.
“Yes, I did. But it doesn’t matter. You didn’t mean much to me anyway.” And he looks right into Jude’s eyes, lies the way Jude lies. “You were right. I was looking for something else. A quick fuck. But I’m not going to have people invading my privacy everyday just to keep you around. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”
Every word a stinging venom.
“You don’t mean that,” Jude says. His expression is shut off for once. He doesn’t look heartbroken. He looks steady. As if he’s willing to bear all the harsh words Gavi throws his way.
“I fucking hate it when you look like that,” Gavi says. “Like you’re the rational one. Listen to me.” And Gavi softens his expression. “I hate living this life. Nothing makes me happy. Not even you. This just makes things worse. For the both of us. So let me leave.”
Finally, that breaks Jude. He clenches his jaw, and looks away. But then he nods. “Okay. I understand.”
But Gavi didn’t want that. He wanted Jude to scream back at him, try to hug him again, convince him harder to stay. But this is the same Jude who wouldn’t confess his love the first time around. So maybe Jude won’t say anything now.
All that’s left is regret mixed with relief. Gavi doesn’t have to be strong anymore, doesn’t have to try anymore.
Gavi can
let go.
–
Gavi sleeps for the first time in decades. But sleep isn’t sleep.
It’s been so long since he’s visited the real world. Phantom echoes of waves still ring in his ears. His parents are having breakfast, chatting. All his teammates have gone off either to retire or to different leagues. Pedri is wrapping an arm around another best friend.
Jude is smiling at a small child in his arms. A child that laughs the same laugh as Jude. And Jude looks up to see a woman, so beautiful, a beauty that settles wonderfully on the heart.
This should make him happy. Some part of him might be. Jude isn’t miserable. Jude looks happy and carefree.
But another part, a bigger part that he’s held onto decades, can’t accept it.
Gavi doesn’t want to see Jude accept his death. He doesn’t want Jude to move on. He doesn’t even want to see Jude cry.
Gavi is shaking. His breaths are coming in quick. No. No, no, no. nonononononono. This isn’t how it ends. Gavi has to be there. Gavi didn’t even get to tell Jude he loves him. Didn’t get to say those words despite the countless chances, because he’s a coward. He could blame Jude for not trying to make Gavi stay, but half of that blame lies on Gavi too.
Because Gavi had truly believed it wasn’t worth it to live anymore. Not worth to love.
But that isn’t true for him anymore. It wasn’t ever true.
Jude, he calls out, but he has no voice. Jude. He can’t speak, can’t speak into him.
Jude, he tries again, louder, but there’s no volume to grow louder. He calls out, calls out, calls out. Please look at me, he tries to say. But Jude doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look his way.
He can’t give up. He’ll sleep forever if he has to, haunt Jude forever if he has to. He needs to
break through the waves. He’s fighting against the water. It’s towering over him, surrounding him, choking him. For a second, in the panic, something resembled relief. But he shoots that down. He needs to break through the water, to the surface, gasp lungfuls of air to see the sun rise and hear the chord play, and remember running through the fields even if he can’t do that anymore.
He struggles. He doesn’t accept.
Gavi–
–
Hears the beep of a heart monitor.
When he opens his eyes, all the colors of the world shine so bright, so vivid. Is this what being born feels like? Then it all settles back to normal. He’s in a hospital room. The last thing he remembers was being too drunk to make good decisions. His head hurts.
Something heavy sits on his chest. At first he thinks it’s whatever lingering emotion from whatever he must have been dreaming. But when he looks down, he sees Jude’s head laying there.
“What are you doing?”
Jude lifts, and his eyes are wide.
“You’re awake,” he gasps.
“Uh-huh. Were you planning on taking a nap on me?”
“No I was–” Jude stutters, still looking at him with wide eyes. “I was listening to your heart.”
Gavi stares at him. “I think I was dreaming of you.” He winces at a stab of pain in his head. Immediately Jude leans in, touches the corner of his temple with gentle fingers.
“What’s wrong? Oh, god, I should call the nurse. You're awake. You’re awake!” Jude stands, and begins to pace back and forth. Then he lets out a mirthful laugh. Gavi thinks he’s doing too much.
“Yeah, I’m awake,” Gavi groans. “And you’re being too loud!”
Jude stops. He forces himself to calm down, but Gavi sees the overbursting joy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, love,” he says. “I mean– Pablo. Sorry.”
Gavi rolls his eyes. They technically are broken up, aren’t they? Gavi should fix that. “Sit down,” he orders. Jude complies easily. “Give me your hand.” Jude does so. Gavi wraps his fingers into Jude’s, and something settles down. Settles right.
“There’s something I want to tell you.”
The words he meant to share for a long time now. In their private world away from everyone.
“What is it?”
Gavi grips his hand tighter. He opens his mouth and says–