//TW for suicide ideation//

Hyukjae's words were meaningless. 

Donghae returned home, heart heavy, and eyes refusing to stay open. 

He hated this feeling. 

His stomach burst into blue and black butterflies, and his rib cage broke open to make room for his ever-growing heart. His head was suffocating with the mixture of cigarette smoke and antidepressants. 

He collapsed.

From this strangely twisted angle, he could nearly catch a glimpse of the sun setting, signaling the end of another monotonous day. 

But...this feeling. 

This was not monotonous at all. 

This was new, and Donghae hated it. 

He wasted no time at all in crawling to the bathroom, the cold tile reaching to bruise his knees with its frigid fingers. 

Donghae's breathing was heavy and burdened, knowing perfectly well what was to come. 

The medicine cabinet was soon exposed for his choosing.

Fingers ruined by the effects of his frustrated lashings on his bathroom mirror curled around the bottle that was prescribed to help him. And help it shall. 

Once again, Donghae used his wasted limbs to inch into the living room, bottle rattling around in his right hand. 

This feeling. 

I don't deserve this feeling. Donghae consumed himself with this one poisonous thought until every breath he took tasted like the cigarettes he smoked. 

His laptop laid forgotten on the coffee table. The object of so much relief and pure unadulterated imagination waited in silence, resigning from calling out to its friend in desperation. 

Donghae resumed his initial position on the hardwood floor, the only sound in the room being the planks under his bare shoulders and back creaking unpleasantly as they always had.

His eyes happened to catch the ceiling, the dark spots in the corners of his vision forming wild hallucinations of spirals and galaxies. 

His fingers toyed with the top of the medicine bottle. Last time he counted, Donghae had about 28 capsules of false happiness left. Should be enough. 

Donghae turned his head, his ear taking a bit of a toll as it dragged across the floor. 

The sun had not forgotten to set, and the stars were right on time as they appeared one by one, the glittering bits of light shining through Donghae's wide window. 

Such a perfect view. He wasn't upset about that being the last thing he saw before lulling himself into an endless dream.

His butterfly filled stomach began to hurt excessively, and his chest heaved. 

I am not special.

How dare he make me think that I am.

Donghae was a man that was only noticed by street-lamps and bartenders that worked during the night shift. He was only spoken to when he paid for his groceries or when he ordered food at a restaurant. Cars would almost run him over as he made his way across the street because they would simply not notice him.

Donghae's existence itself was ghostly. 

He lazily rolled the bottle of pills back and forth in his palm, ignoring thoughts of doubt almost absentmindedly. 

He finally unscrewed the bottle's plastic top, separating the two after a long hiatus of the objects being glued together. 

Donghae his bottom lip in concentration, wetting the surface and tasting the sour residue of nicotine that resided there. Black eyes swirled into even darker circles as his irises focused on the pile of blue and white pills in his hand. His mouth opened tentatively, almost unsure of his actions, but he knew very well what he wanted. 

Suddenly a small patter of rain struck against the glass window, shaking Donghae out of his hysteria. The individual droplets of rain began to trickle down the translucency of his window, and Donghae watched, mesmerized. 

All thoughts vanished. 

Donghae's hand slowly let the medicine roll onto the hardwood until his trembling palm was emptied from the antidepressants completely. He sat upright. 

He...he was so kind to me...

Donghae struggled to remember what his face looked like. He knew he had hair the color of raven's wings and his eyes matched the intensity of that color perfectly. He remembered how clean and well put together he seemed, even his clothes failed to have a single wrinkle on them. 

He remembered his name. 

Hyukjae. 

This man, the "Elusive Consumer of Coffee", had pulled Donghae out of the void of being unnoticeable, into being a man composed of stars and bright lights. Donghae swallowed the sandpaper feeling down his throat, and stood up fully, the floorboards creaking just like they always did. 

He returned to the safety of his bedroom, leaving his suicide attempt on the floor, forgotten. 

Hyukjae woke up the next morning with his famous smile plastered on his lips, and some serious bed-head. 

The mockingbirds chattered excitedly outside his window, serving as the painter's alarm clock. He rubbed his eyes groggily, waking up fully in only mere seconds. 

He continued with his day; he got dressed, combed his hair, ate a strawberry muffin he found in his kitchen, and went for his daily walk. Black Converse audibly screeched to a halt as Hyukjae suddenly stopped on the sidewalk. 

Something didn't feel right. He couldn't describe the feeling, and he doubted he could even paint his feelings out on canvas if he tried.

Something just wasn't right. 

I locked the door to my apartment...I cleaned the dishes last night and put them away this morning...I remembered to pack my art supplies when I left the house... Why do I feel uneasy? Hyukjae mused to himself, thoughts bouncing around inside his head, going this way and that, never settling for rest. 

He shrugged it off, dismissing it as paranoia. 

The brass chimes on the door to the coffee shop jingled cheerfully to welcome the strangers entering. 

Donghae chose the table he worked at before, and opened his laptop. The unfinished word document titled: "Hyukjae- The Elusive Consumer of Coffee" greeted him. 

His breath caught.

Will he be here today?

I don't know if he will be, I shouldn't get my hopes up.

But he seemed like a regular customer, though...

Donghae's mind raced with possible scenarios and their outcomes if he were to face Hyukjae once again, and he found himself staring at the front door, waiting in unappreciated apprehension. 

What the am I doing? This is stupid. In slight frustration, Donghae clicked the big red 'X' on the top of the screen in order to rid himself of indulgent thoughts of that stranger, and instead opened other saved files of poetry. 

His writing was dark, filled with twists and turns of vocabulary and storylines that would leave the reader speechless, trails of tears down their cheeks. That is, if he ever let anyone read what he would write.

Donghae would use his atmosphere and his current mental state to create his monstrous poems. His eyes never saw the world in the same way everyone else did. 

The metal bell hanging on the door rung once again, shaking Donghae out of his reverie, giving him a heart attack simultaneously. The butterflies in his stomach broke free from their cruel cage, and took to flying around Donghae's head, brushing some of the unruly curls of hair down in obedience. 

Him. 

His eyes were dark, but light managed to shine through his irises and pierce Donghae in place. Hyukjae's eyes were focused on the ground as he headed for the counter to purchase his daily coffee. 

Donghae's face fell as he resorted to feeling like an island, completely unreachable yet infinitely curious about the outside world. But the outside world--in this case, Hyukjae--did not notice him at all. Instead, he chatted happily with Jihyun, completely oblivious to the pair of eyes burning a hole in his back. 

Donghae finally shook his head, and continued his practiced typing of laptop keys. 

My work is more important.

Forget about him, Donghae. The writer repeated the scolding over and over in his head until he did, momentarily, forget about the artist. 

"Is this seat taken?" 

Desperate eyes met once again, and Hyukjae smiled politely. Donghae's mouth was dry, so he shook his head "no" in response. 

Hyukjae took the seat across from the other man, scoffing. 

"You really can't talk, can you? I'm just joking. Let me formally introduce myself: I'm Hyukjae." 

He extended a hand, and Donghae took it; the colliding warmth filling the black hole in Donghae's chest. He knew his name. He repeated it to himself routinely until the syllables melted together into something that made Donghae happy for just mere seconds. 

"I'm Donghae." He exchanged back, making sure to replace his expression of surprise to one of engagement. Hyukjae's eyebrow arched slightly, and he sipped his coffee. 

"I apologize that I didn't even get your name after our first meeting, that was kind of rude of me. But...it's nice to officially meet you, Donghae." 

For the first time in ages, Donghae genuinely smiled. 

"What are you working on? You seemed pretty hard at work when I was walking over." Hyukjae's fingers quivered in question as he touched the top of his laptop screen, attempting to turn the device around so he could get a glimpse inside Donghae's mind. The writer flinched, feeling exposed, like a patient receiving brain surgery. The surgeon was Hyukjae, of course, and his scalpel was intruding and painful. 

"N-no..." His words were caught in his fence-like lungs, unable to protest. 

He watched Hyukjae's eyes as they darted from one end of the bright screen to the other, only to start again, and soon the sparkle in the blackness of his pupils vanished. 

"This is..." 

Donghae waited for an answer, knowing all he would get was a slap to the face with a "What the hell is this? Something's wrong with you". 

Donghae knew something was wrong with him, he hated being reminded. 

"...fantastic, I mean, the words themselves almost seem to jump out at me, trying to pull me into their world. I love the imagery you conveyed in this one part--" 

And as Hyukjae's mouth poured out verses and phrases from Donghae's own mind, the writer sat back, confusion clear on his face. 

"You actually...like it?" He interrupted. 

Hyukjae's face contorted into a giant question mark. 

"Of course, this is unbelievable! You have talent, and yet you waste your time and money on cheap cigarettes." 

He paused.

"You haven't stopped, have you?" 

In guilt and defeat, Donghae emptied his pockets of the poison rolled into white and yellow sticks, and handed his bounty to the man across from him. Eager, Hyukjae grabbed the handful of cigarettes and tossed them into the trash can, with a disgusted sigh. It pained Donghae to watch him do that, but he couldn't help agreeing to it if it meant more of Hyukjae's attention.

"I told you, those things will kill you. I don't want to risk losing such a good author to a pack of cigs." He said sincerely, quickly finishing his coffee and topping the trash can off with his empty paper cup. 

"Again, you don't have to thank me. Hey, do you have a phone I could use for a second?" He asked. 

Donghae's eyes probably hadn't closed in a good minute or two, and he blinked twice to let Hyukjae know he was listening. He fetched his cell phone out of his jacket's pocket, fingers not failing to tremble a little, and to his despair, Hyukjae noticed. 

"Thanks." He took the device, and raised it above his head. His arm extended near his face, his fingers forming a peace sign, and his lips pulling back into that handsome smile. 

The camera shutter noise went off, and Hyukjae lowered the phone. 

"What are you..." 

"Well, we've got to stay in contact somehow, right? I'm giving you my number. Feel free to text me anytime." He gingerly handed the phone back to its owner, and got up from the table. 

"I'll see you around, right? Write something good for me, will you?"

Soon, Donghae was left alone again in the cafe, with a slowly mending heart and very shaky hands.