[EXO] bulletproof loneliness
bulletproof loneliness | EXO | zitao | g | 1300~
They say it takes ten weeks to break a habit; Zitao has never had a relationship last beyond ten weeks
Sleep doesn't come easy.
Sleep has never came easy to Zitao, not when he was someone who jerked out of bed with the slightest of disturbance, be it in the form of a sound or a flash of light. But sleep has also never eluded him this much. His eyes are heavy and his body is tired, and yet his mind kept running and thinking, looping events and possibilities and twisting them together. Sometimes, he isn't even sure what is reality and what is thought, especially when every make believe scenarios makes him fall a little deeper.
Or maybe fall a little deeper is the wrong phrase to describe this feeling. It wasn't like he liked him. It was never emotional from the start, that was spelt out clearly through the flirty messages and the eager touches, the hot tongue against the column of his neck and the shock of skin against skin. It was just that Zitao had a bad habit of mistaking physical intimacy with care and concern, no matter how much he tries to break away from it. They say it takes ten weeks to break a habit; Zitao has never had a relationship last beyond ten weeks.
So Zitao squeezes his eyes shut tighter and curls around his bolster with more force. He will go to sleep no matter what, just so the thoughts in his head could shut up for a moment.
✖
Zitao curls up on himself in his chair as he scrolls through the messages on his phone. The dates read weeks ago, a lifetime before, but he ignores them and allows himself to indulge in them anyway. It's self-destructive, incredibly stupid, but for a moment he pretends they are still going on. The texts are nothing much, no declaration of care or even the possibility of romance. It's just sexts really, but it had felt like a sort of care anyway, a twisted one maybe.
He misses it, he admits, misses the flush that crawled up his neck when he got them in public, thumbing through the words with his screen angled away from roaming eyes. Misses the way his fingers would shake with embarrassment as he drafts a reply, eyes scrunched up in laughter as he rereads the ridiculous things he had said sometimes. There's one text in particular that stands out sharply, a simple I miss you, when are you free? that tugs painfully at his chest right now.
He deletes it.
The speech bubble is gone just like that, just like it never existed. And Zitao knows it never did, that he never missed Zitao for real, just missed Zitao pliant under him, missed Zitao's skin, arms, legs, mouth and face but never Zitao.
So Zitao deletes it all. Rereads every message once before erasing it away, until he has only his own replies left and he deletes the entire thread. It feels like ripping the scab off a wound for some reason, even though it should be healing, should be about him letting go, but strangely, it feels like him giving up.
Zitao takes in a deep breath, shaking. There are tears caught in his throat and prickling the corner of his eyes. He lets go of them too.
✖
He's constantly angry. Constantly upset. He's not sure which is which anymore. He isn't sure where his feelings are directed at. Maybe himself, maybe to him. He's just so frustrated all the time, everything balled up in him like a messy ball of yarn, tangled and in disarray. That was what he was, in disarray and a complete mess. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's not the first time it has happened, but it was never supposed to happen. He thought he could handle it better, but he can't. He is losing grip on himself and putting too much pressure. Where did he go wrong? Was it something he said? A way he acted? He had promised a next meeting in the form of a See you soon. It was never supposed to end so soon. Why couldn't he get at least a definite goodbye? No one ever really closed things up with Zitao, it was always disappearance and fading out. Was he not even worth a proper closure?
The paper being pulled apart in his hands feel good, so do the way the cheap dishes crash against the wall. Even if it feels like he is also tearing himself apart.
✖
The thing about feeling better that it is not steady process. One doesn't just feel better and better everyday until it fades away. There are days where you are going to be fine, you are going to be happy and cheerful and thinking about the bad things just makes you flinch for a moment before you're okay again. Then you feel like shit again. You start to crave whatever it was you had before again. You cry and rage and you sleep your whole day away so your brain would stop working for a moment. And there are days where it alternates, where you wake up feeling bright and like the world is in your hands before it crashes down again in the evening and destroys itself at night.
And then there's one day where you are okay. Where you feel good and nice and it lasts for days and days and days. And a week later you realize you haven't thought of him for four days and even when you do that twinge is weaker, more insignificant. You start to breathe right again and your thoughts before you sleep are plagued with other worries, other concerns. You are okay. You are letting go.
(And even though there are days you will relapse, where you will suddenly itch again for his skin against your own anda his filthy words whispered in your ears, you will get through them quicker. And they will come back in lesser frequencies, until it is just a flat line.)
✖
Zitao feels good today. It has been a week since he hasn't contacted Zitao, said his silent goodbye, and Zitao still feels embarrassed about the last text he had sent, one reeked of desperation and also a silent plea for more.
It is more clear to him than ever. Life is at its essence, still black and white. He shouldn't be harping on anything. It was clear from the start that even if he had promised more and even forever with his words, he never meant them. It was all sweet dirty talk, words to make Zitao fluster and more open to his touches. And Zitao had fallen for them, hook line and sinker, allowed his heart to open up even though he didn't want it to, but now it was time to close it again. Simple as that.
✖
Zitao isn't sure what he will do if there's contact made again. Maybe there will be an email waiting for him when he gets home, or his phone will buzz with a text with a number that makes his heart do a flip. He might go back, he might agree to meet and allow himself to sink further, that's the realistic possibility. Or he could ignore it, tell him that it was done. This was the end.
Whatever it is, whatever the next few days and weeks will bring, Zitao will have to go through them anyway. All he can hope is to get through them in one piece.
- title taken from fob's i'm like a lawyer... (me and you)
- inspired by this
- this is very much me projecting my current struggle onto zitao i just needed to let it out and impose it on someone else. selfish, i know.
They say it takes ten weeks to break a habit; Zitao has never had a relationship last beyond ten weeks
Sleep doesn't come easy.
Sleep has never came easy to Zitao, not when he was someone who jerked out of bed with the slightest of disturbance, be it in the form of a sound or a flash of light. But sleep has also never eluded him this much. His eyes are heavy and his body is tired, and yet his mind kept running and thinking, looping events and possibilities and twisting them together. Sometimes, he isn't even sure what is reality and what is thought, especially when every make believe scenarios makes him fall a little deeper.
Or maybe fall a little deeper is the wrong phrase to describe this feeling. It wasn't like he liked him. It was never emotional from the start, that was spelt out clearly through the flirty messages and the eager touches, the hot tongue against the column of his neck and the shock of skin against skin. It was just that Zitao had a bad habit of mistaking physical intimacy with care and concern, no matter how much he tries to break away from it. They say it takes ten weeks to break a habit; Zitao has never had a relationship last beyond ten weeks.
So Zitao squeezes his eyes shut tighter and curls around his bolster with more force. He will go to sleep no matter what, just so the thoughts in his head could shut up for a moment.
✖
Zitao curls up on himself in his chair as he scrolls through the messages on his phone. The dates read weeks ago, a lifetime before, but he ignores them and allows himself to indulge in them anyway. It's self-destructive, incredibly stupid, but for a moment he pretends they are still going on. The texts are nothing much, no declaration of care or even the possibility of romance. It's just sexts really, but it had felt like a sort of care anyway, a twisted one maybe.
He misses it, he admits, misses the flush that crawled up his neck when he got them in public, thumbing through the words with his screen angled away from roaming eyes. Misses the way his fingers would shake with embarrassment as he drafts a reply, eyes scrunched up in laughter as he rereads the ridiculous things he had said sometimes. There's one text in particular that stands out sharply, a simple I miss you, when are you free? that tugs painfully at his chest right now.
He deletes it.
The speech bubble is gone just like that, just like it never existed. And Zitao knows it never did, that he never missed Zitao for real, just missed Zitao pliant under him, missed Zitao's skin, arms, legs, mouth and face but never Zitao.
So Zitao deletes it all. Rereads every message once before erasing it away, until he has only his own replies left and he deletes the entire thread. It feels like ripping the scab off a wound for some reason, even though it should be healing, should be about him letting go, but strangely, it feels like him giving up.
Zitao takes in a deep breath, shaking. There are tears caught in his throat and prickling the corner of his eyes. He lets go of them too.
✖
He's constantly angry. Constantly upset. He's not sure which is which anymore. He isn't sure where his feelings are directed at. Maybe himself, maybe to him. He's just so frustrated all the time, everything balled up in him like a messy ball of yarn, tangled and in disarray. That was what he was, in disarray and a complete mess. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's not the first time it has happened, but it was never supposed to happen. He thought he could handle it better, but he can't. He is losing grip on himself and putting too much pressure. Where did he go wrong? Was it something he said? A way he acted? He had promised a next meeting in the form of a See you soon. It was never supposed to end so soon. Why couldn't he get at least a definite goodbye? No one ever really closed things up with Zitao, it was always disappearance and fading out. Was he not even worth a proper closure?
The paper being pulled apart in his hands feel good, so do the way the cheap dishes crash against the wall. Even if it feels like he is also tearing himself apart.
✖
The thing about feeling better that it is not steady process. One doesn't just feel better and better everyday until it fades away. There are days where you are going to be fine, you are going to be happy and cheerful and thinking about the bad things just makes you flinch for a moment before you're okay again. Then you feel like shit again. You start to crave whatever it was you had before again. You cry and rage and you sleep your whole day away so your brain would stop working for a moment. And there are days where it alternates, where you wake up feeling bright and like the world is in your hands before it crashes down again in the evening and destroys itself at night.
And then there's one day where you are okay. Where you feel good and nice and it lasts for days and days and days. And a week later you realize you haven't thought of him for four days and even when you do that twinge is weaker, more insignificant. You start to breathe right again and your thoughts before you sleep are plagued with other worries, other concerns. You are okay. You are letting go.
(And even though there are days you will relapse, where you will suddenly itch again for his skin against your own anda his filthy words whispered in your ears, you will get through them quicker. And they will come back in lesser frequencies, until it is just a flat line.)
✖
Zitao feels good today. It has been a week since he hasn't contacted Zitao, said his silent goodbye, and Zitao still feels embarrassed about the last text he had sent, one reeked of desperation and also a silent plea for more.
It is more clear to him than ever. Life is at its essence, still black and white. He shouldn't be harping on anything. It was clear from the start that even if he had promised more and even forever with his words, he never meant them. It was all sweet dirty talk, words to make Zitao fluster and more open to his touches. And Zitao had fallen for them, hook line and sinker, allowed his heart to open up even though he didn't want it to, but now it was time to close it again. Simple as that.
✖
Zitao isn't sure what he will do if there's contact made again. Maybe there will be an email waiting for him when he gets home, or his phone will buzz with a text with a number that makes his heart do a flip. He might go back, he might agree to meet and allow himself to sink further, that's the realistic possibility. Or he could ignore it, tell him that it was done. This was the end.
Whatever it is, whatever the next few days and weeks will bring, Zitao will have to go through them anyway. All he can hope is to get through them in one piece.
- title taken from fob's i'm like a lawyer... (me and you)
- inspired by this
- this is very much me projecting my current struggle onto zitao i just needed to let it out and impose it on someone else. selfish, i know.