Damn love.

This is absolutely normal.

It's normal to fall asleep, wake up, take pills, smoke, and wash down some energy drinks so that... He probably wants to blame them for the negative effects of the medication, but it was a lousy process: the ambulance had to revive this lousy death row inmate twice, forcing him to regain consciousness time after time. And then explain it to Xie Lian. At the beginning of their relationship, everything was different, and how can people who have been traumatized and living with these same traumas for decades communicate? His celestial being took his pills by the hour, devoutly believed in some kind of recovery, and then he'd break down, drink some kind of crap for dinner in their tiny kitchenette on the seventeenth floor, and stare out the huge windows for ages... In anticipation of the holiday, they somehow hung up some fairy lights; they shimmered and really could distract him when he wanted to jump out that window. The only effective advice from a psychiatrist, as it turned out. During periods of acute illness, Mu Qing would go without sleep for days, drinking about fifteen cans of strangely named energy drinks and smoking about three packs of cigarettes before anyone could help him. Usually, only conversation and long company with those very same cans of Poison helped… But they healed each other, healed each other with kisses by the wide-open window, healed each other by swallowing the aftertaste of cigarettes and bandages… Why bandages? Because Xie Lian always wore long, voluminous sweaters. And to hell with the open window, to hell with his eternally cold palms—they simply hid the patterns of scars beneath the sleeves, their length covering his wounded thighs like a window screen to keep out mosquitoes on a sweltering summer day. Mu Qing always diligently treated every mark, always meticulously bandaged and watched for new ones, but never scolded, never accused, only brought their shared Poison. One for both of them. You can't take energy drinks with antidepressants, but they'd spent so long learning to live with it that they were simply tired. At first, they fought. Often. So often that the neighbors called the cops, and the upstairs neighbor's dog would bark and whine for days. They quietly decided she didn't like the aura of these high-rise buildings. And also... at the very beginning, they learned to say no. Xie Lian cried when Qing found hidden cigarettes, bought new cans of poison poured down the sink, and Qing, in turn, would lose his temper and scream whenever Xie Lian found hidden blades. It even got to the point of cutting himself with a kitchen knife... Then hemostatic agents and bandages appeared in the house, and all sharp objects were thoroughly washed to avoid the risk of catching some kind of infection or inflammation on such delicate skin. Then, it seemed, life became easier. The cigarette burns down. It smolders so beautifully, somehow unnerving with the gray ash settling on the windowsill. Damn, he'd been given an ashtray not that long ago... It seemed like it was a birthday, or maybe Christmas, or some stupid, forgettable holiday, so the gift would gather dust in the closet while the ashes still settled on the windowsill. Mu Qing closes the window. A disgusting chill always wafts in from there, and the sweater his mother knitted no longer offers any warmth. She was dying while finishing those stitches... For a year, he'd wanted to unravel the sweater and hang himself with it, but it never happened. Five years later, the sweater had become too important a thing in his life.

"Aren't you sleeping?

Did you take your pills before bed?"

This message was viewed twenty minutes ago. I've also looked through the next fifteen messages, but I really don't want to reply... I want to finish this cigarette, unfortunately, the last one in this pack... Pills don't go well with smoking, but this smoke... It's the last thing that kept me going. Except he didn't want to live because he hadn't made it two days ago. For some reason, that particular evening, he wanted to go to the park. Xie Lian had once mentioned that they sold delicious waffles near the Ferris wheel, but that day he hadn't paid attention, and that evening, seeing the guy's empty eyes... Mu Qing simply wanted to bring some waffles, maybe stop by for a new energy poison or some juice... In the morning, this "set" of waffles and juice stood on the hospital bedside table next to a very pale celestial being. Qing hated himself for the walk, for the store, for trying to stop the bleeding from his wrists... his beloved. He should have called an ambulance immediately, he should have acted immediately, but he fancied himself a hero. The cigarette butt flies into the street. He wanted to do it himself, but he had to go to the hospital in the morning, ask for forgiveness and promise not to leave again. And swear he'll always be there. They're both dead, both lousy psychologists, but they're once again sharing an energy drink, kissing again on the balcony by the open window. Xie Lian promises to stop touching sharp objects, while Mu Qing squeezes his cold hands in hers, kisses his slender fingers, and promises to learn how to make waffles so he won't leave more than one. Once, a strange psychologist suggested they share an apartment. Once, they were ready to kill each other rather than live next to each other. Once... Once, they realized that the most precious thing in their small, dead worlds was their lousy, but still living, love.