Heavy music resounded in the club, filled with people partying the night away. The bright lights shone everywhere, and almost everyone was on the dance floor, dancing their night away.   "One more shot of whiskey please!" A male in his early twenties raised his empty glass as he called out to the bartender. He was clad in a laid-back grey tee and ripped denim blue jeans, his hair dyed an attention-grabbing blonde.   "Are you sure? You've already had many shots. At this rate you're not going to make it home." The bartender managed a slight smile at the obviously drunk customer.   "Who cares? All I want now is another shot so get on with it," the Taiwanese-American man's words were slurred, showing the impact of the alcohol in his system.   The bartender sighed, muttering something along the lines of 'heartbroken youngsters these days' before proceeding with his customer's order.   Working his magic with the different solutes and bottles, the bartender soon made the drink and placed it in front of the blonde male before moving on to attend to the other customers.   Mark Tuan barely acknowledged the now filled cup, opting to simply stare into space; a name constantly appearing in his mind.   "Jackson Wang... why... you said we would be together forever... why..." his words were incoherent, and he could tell the bartender heard him by the look of disdain on his face.   Oh right. That's why. Society would never allow them to be together, as long as they were both of the same gender. That's what the society's like, they tell you to be yourself but reject you when you're "different" from others; it was pretty screwed up in Mark's opinion.   Mark could tell that the bartender was slightly turned off from hearing his words, and he wasn't the least bit of surprised when the male walked to other end of the long table.   He probably thinks I'll hit on him since I'm drunk, Mark thought, laughing dryly. This was exactly how almost everyone else reacted when they found out Mark and Jackson were dating.   Mark downed his whiskey, wanting to clear his mind. Screw judgmental "friends", unsupportive parents (Jackson's, not his) and Jackson Wang Jia-Er himself. So much for forever, if his boyfriend of a year really loved him there was no way the younger male would have broken up with him a week ago. Make that ex-boyfriend. Finishing his tenth shot of whiskey, he picked up his phone to check the time.   Five-twenty in the morning.   How funny. Unlocking his phone, he clicked on the contacts and stopped at 'My Wang ♡'. Unknowingly, Mark had already typed out '520 1314' on a text message to Jackson, and all that was left was to send it. 520, just like the time, meant I love you in Mandarin, and 1314, meant forever and always. It had always been sort of a code between the two of them. Be it just casually saying it or adding it when they had to apologise to each other. The seven numbers weren't just numbers for the two of them, they were significant ones.    Mark scoffed as he put his phone down. Why had he even typed the message? It was lucky he hadn't sent it, for that would show Jackson he was stuck in the past unlike the younger who probably moved on. Mark may be drunk, but he wasn't stupid. Even in his worst state, Mark was fairly confident that he wouldn't embarrass himself... or so he thought.   His head started throbbing badly and putting his phone down, he held his head, hoping to at least soothe the pain. His sight started to blur and before he knew it, he was out cold. His head crashed onto the table and his hand landed on his phone, conveniently pressing on the "send" button.   Message Sent.   The bartender, hearing the sound, turned his head and looked at the now passed out man, shaking his head. Right in front of him was yet another youngster who had a drop too much. Seeing the phone that laid still on the table, he picked it up. It was on a page of a chat with someone, and trying his luck, the bartender decided to hit call.   The phone rang for a while, and just as the bartender thought no one would answer, someone spoke.   "Why are you calling me? I told you it's over between us and you said you didn't want to be friends. What's with the text message-"   "I don't know who you are or what you're talking about but your friend here is dead drunk and he passed out. Come here and pick him up and pay his bill, we have a business to run. I'll text you the address," the bartender rattled off, sick of calling the friends of drunk customers. That was sure as heck not written in his job description.   The other line of the call was silent, before the male spoke, "Alright,