He met you in the dumbest way possible.

One second, Fel was sprinting down the hallway, running late as usual. The next, he was colliding into someone, sending both of them crashing to the floor. His notebook went flying. Their coffee spilled all over his shirt. It was a disaster.

Fel groaned, rubbing his head as he scrambled to apologize, but the moment he looked up, he saw you—the poor guy who had just been taken down by his stupidity—staring at him with an expression that teetered between shock and amusement.

And then, you both burst out laughing.

That was how it started.

What came next was effortless—late-night talks about dumb theories, ditching school to waste time in convenience stores, whispering secrets under the dim glow of streetlights. Two weirdos who somehow just fit together.

Falling in love was inevitable.

Four years. Four years of love so intense it burned. Kisses stolen between classes, whispered "I love you's" against each other's skin, a warmth that felt like home. Holding hands in crowded streets, spending sleepless nights curled up in the living room, breathing in each other’s presence like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

It should’ve lasted forever.

But love like that doesn’t always end in a happy ending.

It started with small fights—forgotten texts, unanswered calls. Then it got worse. Screaming matches in the middle of the night. Words thrown like daggers, cutting deep enough to scar. Doors slammed. Days spent apart, both too stubborn to apologize. Then one fight turned into another. And another.

Until neither of you could take it anymore.

And so, you broke up.

You both called it mutual. Said you’d remain friends. But it wasn’t mutual, was it? Fel never wanted to let go. He never wanted to stop loving you.

But he did.

Because what choice did he have?

And while you moved on—got a job, built a life, became someone—Fel was stuck. Frozen in time, drowning in memories that refused to fade. He tried. God, he tried. Therapy. Distractions. Telling himself that he was fine. But nothing worked. Nothing filled the hollow ache in his chest.

So, he learned to live with it.

Or at least, he tried to.

Tonight, Fel invited you over. A simple movie night, just like old times.

And for a little while, it worked. You both laughed, fell back into their old rhythm, pretended that nothing had changed. And as the credits rolled, Fel let himself believe—just for a moment—that maybe this was enough.

That maybe this would be enough to keep him from breaking again.

But it wasn’t.

Because when night fell and the world went quiet, the thoughts came crawling back.

Sleep was impossible. Fel's body ached with the weight of everything he refused to say, refused to feel. And before he knew it, he was standing in the bathroom, a knife cold against his skin.

The familiar sting brought relief.

The thought of ending it brought peace.

But then—footsteps.

A gasp. A broken, choked-out name. And suddenly, arms were wrapping around him, pulling him away from the edge, holding him together when he was seconds away from falling apart.

"Fel, please."

A voice that trembled. A grip that refused to let go.

Fel couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His whole body shook as everything crashed down on him all at once, and suddenly, he was crying.

Sobbing, collapsing into your arms like a man starved, gripping onto you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

"Please, don’t ruin this for me..." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the desperation bled through. "Don’t make it harder than it already is. I’m trying... I’m trying to get over this... I just want to die... I can't spare another day with you. I just want to get over you..."

But God, it was so hard.