Out the window, the thick trees block the moon enough that I can just see an edge, a sliver, of the full moon. Huffing, I twist around, trying to get comfortable, but it doesn't help. Besides, how can I sleep? How can I sleep, alone? It's not that I'm afraid, at least not for myself. I'm fine. I've gotten used to being alone. It's just that I'm afraid for him. It's the city, and it's past midnight, and he's gone, wrapped up in the parts of the city I'll never find him, even if I tried. I know enough not to call his cell: He never answers it. Or maybe he just doesn't answer me. 

I close my eyes, trying to force them to stay, but I know that even if I was walking only on coffee, I wouldn't have been able to sleep, now. I'm never able to sleep, when he's out like this. I always know, somehow, when he's staying late at work and when he's not, and his work almost never extends past six o'clock. He doesn't know I know, of course, but maybe he doesn't know I can see.

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime and a half, a key clicks in the lock, and I can hear him let himself into the apartment. Finally. 

That was too long. 

I dart my eyes to the glowing clock on my bedside. 2:11. A bitter hate, for myself and for him and for what we've become, swells, but I try to push it down. I always push it down. He never sees it. 

I close my eyes, forcing them shut, forcing my breathing to slow down, steady, like I was sleeping. I've become too good at this. I hear slight shuffling, as he lets himself into the room, closing the door behind him. I don't dare swallow in the silence, but I wouldn't have been able to anyway; it feels like a golf ball has been stuck down my throat. 

I hear him moving around, and I know enough to recongize when he's drunk, and he's drunk alright. Again. 

Finally, he gets into the bed, and clicks off the light. Doesn't acknowledge me, as far as I can tell. As if I'm nothing. I have to remind myself to focus on my breathing. In, out. Not too fast, not too slow. He's most likely too drunk to notice if I sounded like I was awake and register that that might mean I've heard him creeping in after midnight, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. 

And then, it's silence. It's his heavy gusts of exhales, it's my "sleeping" breaths, it's his shifting as he tries to fall asleep, it's peace, but it's so wrong. This is so wrong. He's so wrong to do this to me, and it's so wrong of me to take it, but I don't know anymore. I just don't know, and he's all I have. He's something, and something is always better than nothing.

Minutes after he comes in, Jackson's breath turns to snores, and all I do is lie there, not sleeping, frozen but for the rise and fall of my chest. Breathing, and trying so hard to fall, but I'm still wide awake. 

Ω

The next morning, I'm up before the bell, sliding out of bed and disabling the alarm on my phone before it can wake the demons. I don't think I can deal with Jackson this morning, and the best way to avoid having to stick a smile on my face and pretend the bags under my eyes don't exist is to avoid him. Maybe later. Later, I can pretend everything's fine. But not now, with a full day of no sleep under my belt and a churning resentment in my stomach. 

 I pull out a shirt and jeans, not turning on the lights, trying to make the least amount of sound possible. If I'm lucky, he'll be too knocked out to hear me, or to wake up on his own. Reaching back in my closet, not looking, I fumble around for a jacket blindly, more focused on Jackson's still form than anything else. But when my fingers only meet cold metal, more surprised than anything at finding a necklace in my closet, I untangle the chain and lift it out, holding the chain up to the light. 

It's a silver five-point star dangling on a silver chain, the branches of the star wide, so it was almost a hexagon. The silver was still clear, still sharp, still elegant and simple enough to pierce my heart. He, Jackson, had given this to me for one of our anniversaries, in college. A knot twisted in my stomach, and I had to blink back tears. The old Jackson, the one that I fell in love with. The one that would go out of his way to make me feel better, who told me that I was like an English picture book: Our other friends had no idea who I was, what I said, but to him, I was as clear as day. The dorky Jackson, the loveable Jackson, the Jackson that was always there, instead of always gone. 

A bitter taste in my mouth, I move to throw it back into the closet, but at the last second, I hold still, and slip on the necklace, letting the cold pendant rest on my chest. I don't know why. 

Reaching back into the closet, I turn my head away from Jackson long enough to grab a leather jacket, close the door, and tip-toe out of the room.

 In the kitchen, I grab an bar, a bottle of water, and put a bagel in to toast. While the bagel browns, I hunt around and manage to find a pack of gum, a hat, and jam my feet into the first shoes I see. My blood is racing, hot, and I just need to get out. The toaster dinged painfully loud, something I had forgotten about, but I try to shrug it off, and bet on the fact that I can get out of the house and board the bus before Jackson had stumble his way into the morning and reality. 

No bothering to put anything on the bagel, I stuff my breakfast into a bag and sling it over my shoulder, and although I knew the squeaking of my shoes on the floor was too loud, I just have a overwelming need to get out. I snag my keys on my way down the hall, unlock the door, and let myself out, closing the door gently behind me. 

The elevator ride down to the ground floor gives me time to finally release a breath. I try to at least make my hair look semi-decent in the mirror as the old elevator shutters and sputters its way down the line. The elevator is kind of making me claustrophobic, even if I'm the only one in it, and I start to wish I took the stairs. 

Letting out a sigh of relief when the elevator touches down, I step out. Relief that I've gotten out before Jackson, relief that I'm no longer in a square box not much taller than me, floods me as I start across to the door. I start to reach for my phone, meaning to check the time to see if I can make the early bus, I halt in shear horror. I don't have my phone. I forgot my phone. 

Spitting a swear as I turn around, I start to head for the elevator, but at the last second, I swivel away and go for the stairs, not sure if I want to deal with that again. Frustration setting my jaw, lack of sleep clouding my eyes, I take the steps two at a time, knowing the clock is ticking away before Jackson wakes up. He might be up already, and I just need to get away, but I need my phone. If it was anything but my phone, anything less important, I would've left it. 

I use my key again, clutching the others to not make a sound as I unlock the door and enter the darkened house again, even shall owing my breaths. Finding my phone in it's place near the outlet, I unplug it and turn in on, checking the time. 6:57. If I go quick, I can catch the 7 o'clock train and- 

Arms wrap around my waist, and my heart plunges. I close my eyes, and freeze, locking my knees. No. Dammit, no. 

"Hey," he whispers in my ear, and I fight to not push him away, and I can just barely keep still, keep my frustration and my anger and the stretched patience that comes with a night without sleep.

"Hey," I say back, and I can just barely morph the word into something light, something friendly, something the opposite of the hurricane inside. 

He kisses the back of my neck, just barely, but my skin buzzes and I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, but I love him and I feel so alive, and I feel so weak. 

He moves to kiss me again, and I can't take it anymore, I can't, so I squirm away, breaking free of his arms. He looks at the place I was before, and his brow furrows in confusion. "Babe?" 

"I-I have to get to work," I say, my voice thrembling, I'm trembling, and my grip on my phone almost loosens enough to sent it falling to the floor, but at the last second I grip it tight as if it's a lifeline in the sea. 

He blinks, and tilts his head, staring at me with those huge brown eyes, and in the morning, with his hair mussed and lines creasing his cheek, this is when I'm the most vulnerable, because he's the most vulnerable. "Babe, you okay?" 

All the roaring emotions that had been building up since midnight, since the beginning of all this, finally rise up, drowning me, and I snap. "No. No, I'm not. I actually didn't get any sleep last night." The words are hard, cold, disguising just barely what I mean and what I didn't mean to say. But it's already out there. 

Jackson blinks slowly, processing it, turning it over in his hazy mind. But it's so clear that even he can get it, and his eyes darken, his mouth gapes open ever so slightly. "Babe, I had work, you know t-" 

I cut him off. "No. I'm not stupid, Jackson. I know when you're lying, and you've been lying for so long. I'm not blind." And now I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I can't stop. "Even though you think I am, I'm not. And I'm tired of wondering where you are, so you're with, and I'm so, so tired, Jackson." 

"No, no, babe, listen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, and I love you. I only love you." He's so frantic, and I don't know why. He's so confused and scared, and I almost want to laugh.

I can only stare at him, and I'm just so tired. I'm chilled to the bone, and I feel I could sleep for a month. I just want to sleep, and when I wake up, everything to be like it used to. But that won't happen. Because this, Jackson staring at me with this desperation to save something that'd already gone, this is real. This is real life.

"I'm done, okay." It's so quiet, it's almost a whisper, but Jackson can hear it, I know he can. "I'm done with waiting for you, I'm done with hoping, I'm done with wishing for you to change. I'm done with you killing me."

I hike my bag up on my shoulder, and I can't meet his eyes. I reach for something to say, anything, but come up with nothing. So I just bow my head, maneuver out of his way, and shut the door behind me, in front of him.

And I'm gone, as tears stream down my cheeks, but I'm finally gone and forever gone.

Three Years Later

"Uggghhhhh." 

Jaebum sits next to me. "How's the job search?" 

I let out a small whimper from my position with my forehead on the table. Jaebum pats my shoulder, and turns my laptop screen to face him. 

"Ah, okay. I'm sure Netflix has a job open. You just keeping watching The Walking Dead, and you'll be all set." His voice is completely serious, but I can hear his thinly veiled disapproval. But I don't know what to do anymore.

 It's been three months since I moved in with him at his flat, four months since I lost my job, three months and two weeks since I had ran out of money. The other two weeks I had spent surviving on what was left in my fridge and what I could scavenge. Jaebum had finally found out and forced me to come live with him, insisting when I said that I didn't want to inconvenience him or anything. He can be extremely pushy when he wants to. 

But three months without a job takes a toll on anyone, and I would take a job at the city's sewage department if I could. Anything to actually have something to do all day, anything to start living my life again. This life that, for the last few months, has felt like it's on hold. I don't know what I want to do. I don't know so I want to be. 

Jaebum pulls out his phone. "Actually, Youngjae told me that the coffee shop he works at just fired someone. Maybe there's a spot you can get."

"Hopefully," I mutter, not really paying attention, and start to play the episode again. With my luck, it'll already be filled.

A minute later, Jaebum lets out a hum. "Yeah, he says there's an opening, and he can probably get you in. He says go over tomorrow." 

I allow myself a little smile. It's a start, after all. And there always has to be a start for there to be something.

Ω

"Iced green tea!" 

"Yup, coming," I yelled back, over the music, the clatter of dishes and plates and cups, the conversation of people, the bell jingling at the door. 

It was the busiest time of the day, and I had been on my feet for two hours, with a half hour left to go. Customers were streaming past, the door was slamming, orders were ringing up over the chaos, and I was in the zone, concentrating, but not too much. Making the drinks is like juggling, at least to me: Don't focus too much on a single one, don't think too much, because if you do it'll all come crashing down. I was relying on my memory and a month of working here to get me through. 

It was always better to let my hands and brain do the work, so I could also shout out customer's names and hold a decent conversation with Youngjae at the same time, who was working right alongside me, in the heart of the coffee store. We're the only two that were actually making drinks, the other two workers on shift, our friend Yugeom and a girl named Say, were operating the cash register. At times like this, the line stretched through the ropes to brush against the door, and we had to continually fight to keep it from spilling out the shop.

"Mark!" I tossed back a questioning yeah to Youngjae before giving a customer her drink and a smile, if it was a little forced.

"Did you hear Yugeom kissed Bambam?" Youngjae said, tossing me a sly grin as he breezed on by. 

"Wait, really? Yugeom kissed Bambam?" 

Yugeom, who was turning to give Youngjae a marked cup, gave me a sickly-sweet, sarcastic smile and flipped me off below the counter. 

"He wishes," Youngjae snickered under his breath, and I rolled my eyes and snickered too. He'll make a move soon enough. Probably. 

Say was laughing, her back turned, as she thanked another customer. Yugeom's crush on Bambam, another worker, was a source of entertainment for all of us. Except, you know, Yugeom and Bambam. Yugeom because he certainly isn't amused, Bambam because he doesn't actually know. 

Say turned halfway to hand me a cup. "Iced mocha." 

"'Kay." I glanced up at the clock as I spun around, reaching for the ice. Only a couple more minutes until I can actually sit down and eat some food.

I went through the motions, pausing once when Youngjae shrieked, and turned to read the side of the cup for the name. As I did, the blood rose to my face, but it wouldn't be him, it couldn't be him.

"Jackson," I called out, setting the cup on the ledge before wiping the counter. And I looked up, straight into big, dark eyes. 

He blinked, stunned, but I couldn't move. He was here. Jackson. Jackson. I hadn't seen him for three years. Three years, and I had just managed to make myself forget him. I had managed to completely rid him from my mind, although I never had had really the courage to throw away the necklace. I can feel it now, the metal warm from spending three years next to my skin, and it feels like it's molton metal burning into my skin. 

His cheekbones are more sculped. His skin is clearer. Even from here, I can tell he's grown. He's put together, he's neat in his suit and tie, and here I am, standing in my jeans and rolled-up sleeves, my red hair desperately in need of a brush, working at the local coffee shop. 

"Hey, Mark." His voice is deeper than I remember it, clearer, more confident. He's changed. He blinks again, the surprise at seeing me clearing for something unreadable, something like guilt and something like shame. "Haven't seen you in a while." 

I force myself to swallow, to move my mouth. He shouldn't be able to do this to me. He shouldn't be able to control me like this, make me shut down so fully like this. "Yeah." It's hard, it's cold, it's as comfortable as steel, it's saying, yeah, and it's your fault. 

He drops his eyes, and takes his coffee. "Look, I-" 

"I have work to do," I say, cutting him off, and turn away before he can see how shiny my eyes are, how hard I'm trying to fight off the tears. 

Say gives me a concerned look, but I just shake my head at her and squint at the cup, purposefully with my back at Jackson. When I finally turn around, he's gone.

Ω

The clouds in the sky were grey, thick, and hanging so low in the sky that I felt like I could reach up and grab a handful. It was a week after I had seen Jackson at the shop, and although I had been more reluctant to go to work from then on, I hadn't seen him once. 

I don't know what this means. Is he back? Did he goes somewhere, and now he's here again? Is he going to come back? Or was it just a one-time-thing. Was it just to solve this thing, this resentment and bitterness and memory of hate that I harbored for what he had become those years ago, the hate of how I accepted it all those years ago. Hopefully I'll never see him again, but it definitely doesn't feel like that resolved the issue. It just seems like it opened a old wound that didn't need to be. 

Sighing, I speed up, wanting to get back to Jaebum's before the threatening clouds finally broke. My bag thumps against my back, and, mirroring the action, the star shifts under my shirt, spinning into midair before dropping back. It's actually a miracle that the chain hasn't broken yet. 

I take out my keys from my jacket pocket and unlock the door, slipping inside. I dump my bag on the couch, leaving my shoes at the doorway and drop my keys with a clatter. Padding across the living room to charge my phone, I leave it plugged into the wall and start towards the kitchen. I expected to see Jaebum at the table, maybe doing some papers for his masters, maybe with Junior, his boyfriend. But what I didn't expect was Jaebum staring down Jackson --Jackson-- with those dark eyes. 

"What the hell are you doing here." My voice rang out like a shot from a gun, even though it wasn't particularly loud, and both of them whirled around, guilt scrawled on Jaebum's face. Jackson opened his mouth, closed it, and sent a helpless look at Jaebum, whose expression morphed in an instant and all but bared his teeth at the younger.

He straightened up. "Well, I'll leave you two." He took the route out of the kitchen opposite of me, so I could only stare lasers at the back of his silver head as he abandoned me with my ex-boyfriend. But now, I was just pissed. 

"Care to tell me why you're in my kitchen?" I think it's the first time in a long, long, time that I was able to glare at him like this, and it's just as rare that Jackson, at least the Jackson that I know, would fumble for words. 

"I... I just wanted to see if you were doing okay, and-" 

"So you stalked me? What did Jaebum tell you?" I'm advancing on him, so much so that I'm hit with a gust of his cologne, and it's exactly the same that I want to choke, want to get rid of the memories that are flooding me. 

"Nothing. Nothing, ba- Mark. Mark. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'll leave if you want me to, but I just wanted t-" 

"Good. Get out." My tone's as frosty as icicles, and Jackson drops his eyes. For a second, a mere fraction, I feel bad for him. And then, all those nights rush back to me. Everything does. 

Jackson turns to go, and I'm bristling with anger, but he still runs around. "I'm sorry." It's quiet, and it's sorrowful, it's a gate to his soul, but I won't. I don't care if he's changed, I don't care. I don't. 

But when I try to muster the strength for more anger, all that comes is bitter loss, and the exhaustion that seeped to my bones. "Go." 

He dips his head, he slumps his shoulders, and he goes. 

Ω

When Jaebum finally comes back, I'm sitting at the table, head in hands. 

"Now, do you want to tell me why my ex was in the kitchen?" 

He takes a breath as if he's going to answer, and then stops, most likely rephrasing what he was about to say. "He came over and said that he was an old friend of yours. I... I didn't know he was Jackson, I swear." Oh. Right. Jaebum had never met Jackson; he had come into my life just after the break-up, and I had never felt the need to show Jaebum who Jackson was, what he looked like. 

"He just came in, and I asked what his name was and he just avoided the question, asking random things. Like how you were, if you were happy, if you were dating anyone, stuff like that. I thought it was kind of weird so I asked his name again and then he kind of paused, and said Jackson. I remembered a guy named Jackson cheated on you... so I asked him if that was him and he looked really guilty. 

"So... I got mad at him. Maybe." 

I let my head fall to hit the wooden table with a thunk. "Owwww." But inside, my head was whirling. If I was dating? What, did he think he still has a chance? Does he think I can't remember what he did to me? Does he think I'm so weak that I'll give in, as easy as that? 

I let out another moan and Jaebum just pats my back. "Sorry, dude." 

"I hate you," I mutter, muffled by the table. 

"Love you too." I let out a sigh. 

"Hey, he might leave you alone after this," Jaebum offers. 

"No he won't." 

Ω

For two days, Jackson disappeared. Although I knew too much to think it was forever, I can always hope.

But no.

Jackson came back two days later, just as night began to unfold, but, this time, in the shape of a glass jar, filled to the very brim with quarters, quarters, and more quarters. And all I could do was stare, stare at that jar. Something that I thought he had forgotten. 

8th grade. 8th grade was the year that this came into play. We were best friends then, inseparable, and that was the year that I had finally accepted, and realized, that I was gay, and that I was in love with my best friend. My best friend, who later told me that that was the year he began to like me, but we were both obvious to each other's feelings all those years ago. 

In 8th grade, it had been my dream to travel the world. Travel, see what was wrong with the world, and try to fix it. I wanted to help. It wasn't as if I was tired of the town, tired of the school. It was just I was setting my sights higher than being a professor at the local college. I wanted to go somewhere. I wanted to see the world. 

And Jackson didn't laugh at me. He set down a jar in front of me, one time during lunch. He took out the leftover coins from buying lunch and dropped them in the jar. I just stared at him. He smiled, and tapped the jar as he sat down next to me, his usual seat. 

 "It's for you," he had said. "One day, we'll get enough for you to go at least one place." And then he leaned closer, and I remember my breath had caught in my throat, before he leaned away, eyes twinkling in that way they used to. "And enough so I can come too." 

And there I was, years later, staring at this jar, and suddenly I just broke down. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and sobs that I haven't seen the like of for just less than three years, shook my shoulders. I squatted down, burying my head in my hands, trying to wipe away the tears that just kept coming. I miss him. I miss him, so much. I miss him, and I wish I had never become something that wasn't enough for him. I wish he had stayed the same. I wish I could be transported back to those times, those times when I was nervous around him, those times when my heart stopped when he leaned in close, but at least he was kind, at least I could rely on him to be there, to always be there, as he could rely on me. 

And now? 

Now we're just broken. Now I'm just broken. 

We may have asked for this, when we started to date. We were accepting, and everyone, when they first enter a relationship, even subconsciously, that this could only go two ways. It could end, with sadness and tears and hearts that needed to be mended. Or it could go, on and on, beautiful, until one or the other or both is gone for good, gone from the world. And you always think that you, you and they, you both were going to make it to the end. You would be the people that defied the odds. You always hope. But it almost always happens, that tearing of your heart. Only one in a million actually makes it to the end. 

I wish we had made it to the end. I wish we had at least survived a little longer. I wish we hadn't began to crack. 

The thought only makes me cry harder, and suddenly I'm so alone. I'm so alone. And suddenly, someone's here, someone's here, and I don't register that it's him until I smell his cologne, and I realize it's his wide shoulder that I'm burying my head, that it's his arms around me, but I think I knew it was him from the beginning. 

I don't care, though. 

I don't care if he sees me like this, weak, trembling, sobbing over a glass jar. 

When, finally, I felt the tears stop, I released my grip on Jackson, and he got the message, and drew back, letting me stand up and catch my breath. And now that we're face to face, I can't meet his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, sounded devastated. "I was just trying to help..." 

"Yeah," I waved him off, wiping away the leftover tears with a thumb. "It's fine. I'm... I'm fine." 

I could feel his gaze on me, but I didn't look up. 

"Are you okay?" Softly now, gentle, like I used to wish we would say, when he saw me in the morning after one of his nights. He never did, though, then. Not once. 

"Yeah." I let out a breath. "I'm okay." 

I don't think he's convinced. "I'm sorry." 

I look down, suddenly drained. "Why are you here, Jackson." It wasn't heavy, it wasn't accusing, it was just tired. "Haven't... haven't you done enough." 

"I don't... I don't know. It's just... for the last few weeks, I... I can never sleep. All I can think about is what I did to you, and just... when I saw you at the coffee shop.  Wanted to make this right, and I... I need to sleep."

I drag my eyes up to him, and allow myself a little laugh, dry. "It took you more than two years to be ashamed? It took you more than two years to want to make this right?" He panics, and looks like he's about to backpedal, but I just hold up a hand. "It took you a couple weeks of no sleep to finally try to make this right, to make it up to me, and it's just because you wanted sleep?" 

He looks like he's about to answer the questions, but I step forward. I'm not mad. Maybe this was never meant to be. "I went six months without sleep, because you were always gone."

He seems to draw in on himself. "I know, I'm sorry. I changed, I'm trying. Mark... I just... I'm sorry." 

I shake my head. "Just... I'm okay, okay? I'm gonna live." 

"Yeah. Okay." And then, head lowered, he walked away, leaving me standing there, eyes still red. After a pause, I go inside, leaving the jar behind.

Ω

I was so distracted the next morning that my boss told me to switch with Say, so I don't poison any innocent people while mulling over my life problems. A couple hours at the cash register is busy enough, though, and the interacting with people kept my mind in the present. 

Yugeom looked even happier than usual, but whenever we asked him why he had a stupid grin on his face for the entire shift, he would just smile mysteriously for a second or two, then go back to smiling that huge grin. 

Our questions were answered, though, when Bambam himself came in a few minutes before the end of our shift, leaning himself against the wall just inside the employee area, eyes soft, watching Yugeom, who had literally started glowing. I snickered, and nudged Yugeom out of the cash register area and towards the Thai boy, whispering in a not-so-quiet whisper that I can hold up the fort for the last ten minutes whilst someone else gets some, and happily ignored the icy glare Yugeom shot me before trotting over to Bambam. 

My last few minutes of work were interrupted when Say, who had been on her five minutes break, came over to me and said there was someone waiting for me outside, and that I could leave early.

I gave her a murmured thanks, but my stomach had plunged a couple feet. I knew who it was, who was waiting for me, but still, my feet carried me out the back door. And there he was, hands in his pockets, waiting. 

I closed the door behind me. "What now?" 

He his lips. "Hi." 

I raised my eyebrows in response, and he rushed on. "I have, um, tickets for a plane to Australia. My friend got sick, and so now I hav an extra one, and I was just wondering-" 

"Stop." It came with a whoosh of breath. He looked so much like a kicked puppy with those big eyes that I had to mentally steel myself for what I was going to say. "Jackson, look. I don't... I don't need your charity. I don't need this. We need to end this. You can't just show up in my life because you feel guilty. What you did was wrong, and yeah, this may sound horrible, but you need to know what you did. 

"You hurt, Jackson, and you hurt, and you need to know what happens to the people you hurt. You need to understand the consequences. And right now... right now, I just can't deal with you, turning up like this. I need to find out who I am, and I can't do it with you here. I can't. Maybe in fifty years, we'll meet again, and then maybe we can talk. Maybe we can be friends. But not now. Not now, because love just doesn't fade like that. Love just doesn't go away that quickly. 

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry, Jackson, that I wasn't good enough. I'm sorry you can't sleep. But this is between you, and you now. Okay? Just... leave me alone. You've done enough, and now you have to leave me alone." 

He closes his eyes, and I realize that he's trying not to cry. 

"You've done enough," I say, and now it's a whisper. 

He takes a breath, he takes another breath. Rubs his eyes. Locks eyes with me, and doesn't move for a long, long time. Like he's saving a memory, soaking me in, and that's what I'm doing. I'm remembering, so I can finally forget. 

And then he inclines his head to me, his version of a bow, and looks at me again. "Goodbye, Mark."
 
"Bye, Jackson." I realize I'm crying, just a little. I sniff, and let my eyes drift to the ground before rising up to him. He seems to take that as a signal, and he starts to back away. As he does, he steps into the sun, and I notice something I didn't before. A chain around his neck, with a five-pronged star. Identical to mine. 

Just as he's about to turn around, I reach under my shirt, and pull out the star, letting it glint in the light. I know he sees it, and his eyes lock on it, before fixing his eyes on me. The dark orbs glitter, and for a second, it's almost as if I'm seeing a ghost. 

He turns around, and, for the last time, he walks away, and he never looks back. I watch him go, I open the door to the coffee shop, and I never look back. 

Goodbye.

I loved you, but it wasn't enough. You loved me, but it wasn't enough. 

Live long, live well, love well. 

Goodbye, Jackson. 

SFirst of all, like so many subscribers before I even post it and a upvote omigod let me hug you

Second, let me just applaud myself for the longest oneshot I've ever written! 5914 words! *claps* 

Okay, so although I'm kinda feeling that it broke down a little at the end, I'm actually really proud of this. It took... three days of my extremely horribly slow writing

I hope you guys liked the Bamam/Yugeom in here. Sorry I just had to pu them in cuz I feel like they'd be adorable, and the um, small, height difference would be hilarious

 Anyway, although this is my first Got7 story, I do have a ton of other stuffs. So if you want to check some of my other stories out that would be incredibly amazing:) 

Thanks for reading!