Nothing .

There is nothing left.

Every word has been said. From every plea, to every curse-word. Spoken with eyes filled by tears, screamed out with a heart full of pain.

Defeated, Hendery stands right in the middle of the ruins of what's left of them.

Nothing .

A familiar face turns into a stranger. The onebecomes no one. Heavy words leave an even heavier silence, but every single one keeps burning like fire, destroying everything from Hendery's ears to his heart.

"I slept with someone else," it echoes, over and over and fucking over. "I think I love him, Hendery... I-I'm sorry... Let's break up." Louder and louder, and louder, like deafening thunder.

No tears in the eyes avoiding his—eyes he used to gaze into so dangerously deeply, caught in a promise of forever while their fingers so perfectly would intertwine. Pastel purple hair shadows over long lashes and fair skin, then is slowly pushed back, but the brown eyes keep looking away. Like it would kill him to even look at Hendery—albeit Hendery knows the only one dying would be himself.

"Yangyang..."

It hurts to even speak his name. It hurts, knowing it's probably for the last time. A knot in his stomach, nauseating, the sound of his own voice seems unfamiliar, weak. It is too late, too stupid, too desperate when Hendery turns away to hide his tears.

As if Yangyang hasn't already seen the rivers streaming down his face, rivers big enough to drown them both. But Yangyang has done nothing to stop them. Instead, he stays put in the same spot—leaned against the dresser they painted together last spring. White daisies on opal green. Fingertips tap against the painted wood, his posture seems strained, as if he is ready to flee as soon as he can.

Why would he stay anyway?

Their home is no longer a home, it is the sad remains of what they used to be—and everything they never got to be. Now it is destroyed, ruined like a battlefield, and Hendery is the losing team.

"I'm sorry, Hen," Yangyang repeats, but they both know it doesn't mean anything.

Liu Yangyang is a liar, he always has been.

Not a particular good one, but a very beautiful one, nonetheless. But most importantly, and not to mention most dangerously, he stole Hendery's heart away, long before their relationship even started.

Back when they only got to meet once in a while, surrounded by one too many friends, crammed like sardines, in Sicheng's small apartment. When Hendery had to settle with lingering stares, and nervous laughter into the blue plastic cup squeezed tightly in his clammy hand. A godawful fifty-fifty gin and tonic still couldn't numb the drowning pining over the boy in the corner. The boy with the most beautiful smile.

The boy who one starry night confronted Hendery two blocks away from Sicheng's place. In the middle of the night, on their way home, slightly drunk—but not drunk enough—Hendery felt the heat rushing to his cheeks, like flames licking over his bare skin. His lingering stares had not been as subtle as he had convinced himself they were. But Yangyang laughed. Head tilted to the side, soft light-brown hair swaying along, his bright smile lit up under the lampposts.

"So, when are you going to kiss me?" Yangyang asked so cheekily, tongue peeking out from the corner of his glossy lips. "It's been months already, I can't wait forever, you know?"

"I- What?" And Hendery choked. Not only from Yangyang's bluntness, but Hendery wasn't even sure he was into guys, like that, back then. He hadn't really considered it. Not that much. He just liked to look at Yangyang. A lot.

Yangyang was a moaner, Hendery learned that only a few seconds into their first kiss. Between lips clumsily trying each other on and breathy giggles, soft moans would escape Yangyang's mouth and echo in Hendery's ears, even hours later. The kiss had a tangy taste, of way too many sour candy shots and a faint hint of the cigarette Yangyang shared with Sicheng before leaving. But Hendery didn't mind it as much as he thought he would.

"Walk me home?" Yangyang's lips tickled against Hendery's neck.

"I thought I already was?" A choked gasp got caught in Hendery's throat. Confused, he blinked his eyes, clearly remembering how Yangyang had looked at him back in the apartment, suddenly and determinately, stating that we are leaving now.

Hendery really should have taken the hint back then.

It didn't take many weeks for Hendery to realize that he indeed wasinto guys. Liu Yangyang, specifically. And it didn't take long after that, for Hendery to learn that Yangyang not only was a moaner when it came to kissing.

Liu Yangyang might have been a liar, but he was the first and only person to ever teach Hendery about love—and now, he is the one taking it all away.

While Yangyang smacks his lips a few times, Hendery remains quiet. He has nothing left to say, but at the same time everything. But there's a painful lump filling up his throat, drying up his mouth while only his eyes can speak all the words his lips can't get out.

Tears cling onto his lashes, glistening as they let go, as they draw wet streaks down his face and stain his shirt like drizzling rain.

They are over—this time for good, Hendery can feel it deep in his heart. They crossed the line of no return long ago, long before tonight even. The line they used to balance on, always so close to tripping, to falling over. And it finally happened.

Their love was never easy, but it has been all that Hendery knows. Wild, unpredictable, a love that hurts, but also fills him with a consuming and utterly addicting rush of absolute bliss. They would fight, and then they would make up—and oh, did Yangyang know how to make things right again, leaving Hendery feeling completely worn out, but for a very different reason.

The subtle sound of footsteps behind him; Hendery's heart stops and his otherwise numb hands curl into closed fists—nails dig into his skin until it hurts. A part of him doesn't want to turn around, but the fear of regret if he doesn't is stronger.

"Bye, Hendery." Yangyang bends down to pick up the bags he packed while Hendery was at work, one swung over his shoulder while holding on to one in each hand as well. Most likely calculatedly, to avoid a potential goodbye hug.

His soft voice lingers in the air. He has always been soft-spoken, even when they were fighting, that damn smooth almost fragile tone—it's one of Hendery's biggest weaknesses.

And Hendery is drowning while breathing. Crashing waves pull him under; all the memories they have created together flood his mind, while silent tears keep rolling down his face. Tear after tear, like endless rain about to wash away everything but the emptiness and pain. The unbearable, fucking, pain which puts an end to all the words left unspoken.

"Yangyang, wait-" But it is too late. There is nothing but the daisies on the dresser meeting his eyes; he reacted too late—his voice resonates in the loneliness surrounding him. The sound of the front door. Opening, and closing.

He is alone.

Alone in the ruins of their relationship, breathing in the ashes of what used to feel like love—slowly suffocating on all the words he never got to say, and all the might-have-beens left behind.

There is no air to fill his lungs, the floor is cold, harder than usual too, when he falls to his knees. And everything is spinning and crashing and burning around him. Inside of him. He heaves for air, hand clenched at his chest, pulling, clawing, shaking.

Hendery feels everything in this moment.

Everything...

And nothing at all.