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boyfhee · 8 months

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MARRIED UNDER TWENTY-FIVE / sjy

SYNOPSIS : a look into yours and jake’s life as you meet, fall in love, get married, and lose each other— all under twenty-five. ( 5.3k )

or, eight months after your death, jake finds the courage to open your letter.

GENRE : heavy angst, bittersweet

WARNINGS : death, grief and grieving, heavy drinking, smoking, implications of substance abuse, one mention of intrusive thoughts, my attempt at cinematic parallels but in writing so i hope it's not confusing, switches between past and present. byf : written in italics are the contents of the letter

NOTE : was in the zone while writing this like the way i teared up?? boyfhee angst returns happy reading, everyone. ALSO big thanks to @flwrshee ri my bae for beta-reading this and reminding me to work on this from time to time lmfao. ib : richard feynman's letter to his dead wife (need someone who loves me the way he loves her)

buried in jake’s drawer is the letter he found four months ago. actually, it has been sitting there for over a year, under the pile of other papers and envelopes, tucked in the lowest drawer of the shelf, one that is rarely ever opened. you had put it there for him to find it— hoped that he would find it because you couldn’t bring yourself to give it to him yourself. jake had stumbled across it four months after you left him forever. four months after walking and stumbling, after four months of staring blankly at his ceiling, the letter is the closest he can get to you.

he keeps it with him, in his bag, sometimes tucked in his coat during winters, as a bookmark for the books he reads that take him to back you, even if you only exist as a figment of his imagination. he keeps it on the bed-side table before he goes to sleep, it’s there in front of him on evenings he drinks for hours on empty. the letter stays unopened— he couldn’t bring himself to open it. his fingers brush against the pale paper and it feels like a sword to his heart. opening that letter feels like tearing you apart, and four months is what it takes jake to sit by the kitchen counter with the letter once again; with pain in his eyes and a scissors by the side.

eight months after you’re gone, jake finds the strength to read it.

‘i think the first time i fell for you wasn’t at the bookstore,’

your handwriting feels like a warm hug after a long day. his fingers tighten around the loose sheet of paper, a faint crease forming along the edges. a single tear rolls down his cheeks.

‘it was that day at the bus stop. it was raining, i was running towards the bus stop, covering my head with my bag. fortunately enough, the bus arrived a minute after, and you happily lent me your jacket before getting off at your stop,’

and jake remembers it clearly. grey skies and merciless rain, he was already late for his evening classes and the weather didn’t seem to help. he already missed a bus before making it to the bus stop near his apartment and managing to catch another, his umbrella decided to malfunction in the worst way on seemingly the worst day. his perfectly styled hair was ruined thanks to running in rain, across and under the sheds he could find. jake was so sure, it was the worst day in the nineteen years of his life, until the bus arrived at the stop, and his eyes handed on you as you stood at the bus stand, annoyed at the weather.

jake could hear one of his friends calling his name from a distance as soon as he gets down from the bus, but all he did was look at you and offer you his jacket— the most far-from-normal and astonishing thing he had ever done— before you aboard the bus, shooting him a soft smile from the windows as it drove away.

‘i still don’t know why you did that,’

reading further, jake realises that he doesn’t know why he did that either. the two of you weren’t even heading in the same direction. he was rushing to the university campus while you wanted to catch the bus to your way home. the chances that he would get his jacket back were low, almost zero. there are days when he sits by the window and thinks about all the stuff you did together, about everything he did that led him to you. the jacket, perhaps it was supposed to end up with you, maybe it was the only way nineteen year old jake could’ve talked to you and get one step closer to your world after admiring you from the sidelines for months.

‘the bookstore, i think it’s a place where i realised that i’m in love with you. a place where i made all my decisions about you, where i shared my firsts and lasts with you— as promised. if you’re wondering why i’m writing a letter in this date and era,’

his eyes are a little blurry, there’s a picture of you in the said book store in his mind. it’s like a nineties short film— a grainy image, slightly blurred, the voices are muffled, but jake feels every emotion down to the very core of his heart.

on some days, he ends up in front of the same bookstore. there are evenings he sets out on a journey with no destination, wherever the roads take him. his eyes are up towards the sky, usually towards the venus shining like a gemstone, he likes to think it’s you, that you ended up being the favourite star in the sky. on evenings like those, jake sits outside the very bookstore his and your story originates from and lets his mind play the picture, tracing over the image of you in his mind. sometimes, he goes inside and sits at the same place you both used to sit, he’d pick the same books you used to read, occasionally coming across tiny doodles you left on some pages even though it violated the rules.

‘it’s because i’m afraid i haven’t loved you enough,’

the words hit him like a train travelling at hundreds of kilometres per hour. jake pauses, putting aside his glass of alcohol, letting the words and tears you spilled on the paper diffuse through the tips of his fingers, wanting them to flow like they’re the blood in his veins. he reads it all over again, a single tear rolls down his cheek, a lifeless sigh escapes his mouth.

‘because you were there on nights i stayed in the library to study for exams. you were there, at my door, whenever i needed you to drive me to classes. you were there outside my class, waiting for me, during lunch when i needed someone to hear my complaints, at the bus stop on days it got late because you didn’t like the idea of me going home all alone at night,’

because you were there on noons that jake had trouble remembering reactions of carboxylic acids and amines. you were there to bring him snacks or lunch whenever he got a little too immersed in concepts of quantum mechanics to even remember about his meals. you were there when he called you to complain about his professor, who kept adding his name to every single project, all because jake was an excellent student. when you stayed with him throughout the evening and beyond at the campus, accompanying you to your apartment late at night was the least he could do to thank you.

‘you were there on the night it was raining and the power went out. i still remember how you looked— drenched and worried with your phone’s flashlight turned on, standing at my doorstep. you said that the crime rates were high and that it’s better for me to stay at your place that night. you were there for me day, noon and night, and all i’m doing in the end is saying goodbye.’

it was his first instinct— maybe even beyond first, if it exists, because the power went out in your whole neighbourhood, and jake was already calling you while running down the streets, towards your apartment, with nothing but his flashlight to guide him through the complete blackout that night. when you asked him why he was at your place, he spent ten minutes looking for an appropriate reason. perhaps, it was because he wanted to see you, or because he was worried to death, maybe acts of service are how you both look after each other— doing favours and being the helping hand. jake didn’t know, he still doesn’t know, as he sits by his kitchen counter, letting the small sips of alcohol intoxicate his systems gradually, killing him slowly, in a way that hurts so right. asking you to spend the night at his place was the toughest and the bravest decision jake had made in his entire life.

‘agreeing to do that summer festival dance with you is still the best decision i’ve ever made, my proudest moment, and letting you step into my life was the second best. nothing compares to when you joined the music club and changed my life forever.’

the summer festival dance— jake remembers it, the memory is as clear as a crystal in his head, ingrained in his mind, every single second playing at the back of his mind even when he’s half wasted, as if he’s reliving the moment. no one had enough time to dedicate themselves to a mere summer festival dance, but jake saw you looking at the flyers on the notice board just three minutes after he had told jay that dancing was not his thing, and he knew he needed to get that dance with you.

getting partnered up with you was a pure coincidence, but everything that led to it wasn’t. the deliberate bumping in the hallways and the extra cups of coffee that jake bought every morning for a friend that never seemed to attend classes, everything led to him and you standing in the practice room in front of him, helping him come up with dance steps for audition, which finally led to his selection on the team.

jake attempts to gulp down all the contents of his glass before realising that it’s empty. another sigh falls off his lips as he reaches out for the bottle kept across the counter, pouring him yet another glass for the evening, another day spent drinking while drowning in the thoughts of you, another line of intoxication, another stray tear rolling down his face, another memory creeps inside his brain— this first dance rehearsal.

he could’ve sworn, his heart stopped beating for good ten seconds when the instructor told him that he needed to lift you up for a dynamic step during the intro. it was simple— you in front of him, his hands on your waist, he would lift you up— but the hands on the waist, his hands on your waist, jake felt like he was about to pass out. the second time his heart skipped a beat was when you grabbed his hands and put it on your waist because he was hesitating beyond belief, and that was the beginning of everything.

and the hand stayed there for as long as jake could remember. his hand resided on your waist whether you both were crossing the road, or sitting on a park bench while you showed him pictures of layla you look the evening before, or while taking mirror selfies, or in all those moments that he spent slow dancing across the living room with you. it was as if your waist had been the home his hands were searching for and now that you’re gone, they feel empty. in the silence suffocating him, sitting on a chair with his head hung low, the floor looks so pretty. there's a faint reflection of him on the tiles, then his eyes land on his hands.

maybe it's the timing that has been making him feel this way. perhaps, it's the location, the empty rooms with threatening silence and the empty streets, the empty hallway, the empty hours, the lack of something and abundance of everything— it's making him go insane. it’s the empty pockets of the seconds that pass by, an undisturbed wave of silence that is disturbed everytime he sighs or gets his glass on the granite kitchen countertop, pouring himself another glass of cancer.

he sniffs, it could be from cold or tears. jake can’t point to the reasons anymore. his gaze settles on your letter that lies on his lap, a few of his tears soak through the paper. he puts his glass aside once to pick up the letter and pads on your words with his fingertips, not wanting them to get smudged by his tears. occasionally, he tries to convince himself that this is a dream. that you're here, somewhere, perhaps at work or at the nursery, maybe out shopping with a friend or at your parent's house because you've been missing them lately. jake imagines himself waiting for you at the station or the bus stand or the airport, smiling like a fool because he hasn't seen you in days and finally he can have you close to him, his lips on yours, your hand in his,

but now, his hands feel emptier.

there's a yearning for something he doesn’t know. his apartment feels emptier, the stillness amongst your stuff that lies around even after eight months of your death is paralysing. his arms stretch across the bed at night in hopes of feeling something, anything. he takes another sip from his glass, eyes focusing on your letter once again as he reads further.

‘you can call me crazy but every second with you felt like living in a whole new world. i started noticing things i didn’t before— seriously, who even smiles while watching wind ruffle through clothes hung up for drying? it was as though i was living a monochromatic life, the same routine, same pattern; then it was you, and everything around me became so beautiful. suddenly, i stopped caring about assignments because i needed to talk to you all night. i didn’t care what i was getting into by skipping prof. hong’s lectures because we got to hang out together. i was knee deep in troubles but god, i was so happy because i had you standing in front of me, and i knew you’d pull me out. i know you’d be on the ninth cloud while reading this, probably even call me stupid but i don’t mind because it’s true; i am madly, stupidly, crazily, insanely in love with you,’

jake remembers the day he came to your apartment for the very first time.

you two weren’t dating, but the line in between had started to blur, fading into something none of you could see but both of you enjoyed. amidst alcohol and the faint odour of cigarettes that encapsulates him, being all the reasons behind his stumbling steps and hazy mind, jake could still see you clearly in the back of his mind— the way you glowed under the mid-morning sun, the warm breeze sweeping away stray strands of your hair out of your face, and your arms raised up above your head to hang the clothes up for drying. he could make out your smile through the silence between you two. no words were shared, but the fluttering glances and quiet smiles said more than any words could ever convey.

and then jake realised— it wasn’t just you feeling this way.

the presence of something intricately new in your daily routine, although too minute to point out with your fingers, lingered throughout his days and nights after meeting you. suddenly, the boring computer science lessons didn’t seem bad, for you would visit him after the classes. jake, who used to arrive in class exactly on time, started arriving minutes and hours early just to see you, maybe, even strike a conversation. you had mentioned to him your favourite thing about him— the way his hands hesitatingly slide inside his pockets whenever one of your friends mistook him as your boyfriend. it was the way he smiles, the subtle rosy tint on his cheeks, the shy gaze travelling everywhere but to your face because he was too embarrassed to look at you. being mistaken as each other’s lovers was a mistake none of you clarified, and it was only a matter of time before it came true.

when his eyes settled on your panting for hair in a secluded corner of the hallway after running out of professor hong’s classes while he was just about to notice you two was the moment jake fell in love with you.

and jake falls first, he falls hard.

because there were two tickets to the movie in his pockets with words of asking you out on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken, and he was too busy being enamoured by your laughter as you leaned against the wall, catching your breath. your laugh is the music to his ears, watching you is better than any movie ever directed, and the feeling of his lips on you just a minute later in the same corner of the hallway is still the best feeling he has ever felt in his entire life. you were like a painter and his life— a canvas; and it was only after you he started seeing colours.

jake could get any girl he wanted but it was only after you, he realised who he needed in his life.

‘remember the day you proposed to me? i cried all night.’

and jake lets out a dry chuckle as he reads through those words, gripping his glass a little tighter, feeling the carved patterns through the tip of his fingers. his eyes travel to the ring adored on his finger. it’s one thing keeping him close to wherever you are, and his eyes occasionally travel to the pen lying stray across the counter after he wrote something he, himself, doesn’t member. his fingers brush over the words you’ve written, letters that insinuate of you as he weep with love— jake wants to write back to you but he couldn’t, for he doesn’t know your new address.

‘it felt like a fever dream, the thought of marrying you. we met at nineteen, we fell in love at twenty, we got married at twenty-two— all under twenty-five, it was scary. it was like a thrill ride, like a rollercoaster, i had my parents tell me to wait things out. there were people who told me things, words about how i should be sure of who i’m marrying, certain if that person is right for me. it was the world against you and me, and i hate to admit that i understood their stance, but they never knew you like i do. they knew the jake who i fell in love with deeply enough to marry within four years. in their story, it was you and me and our young and immature love, and that’s it.’

it’s ironic because jake didn’t sleep all night after you said yes to his proposal. getting married at twenty-two was an adventure, you being the general instigator all, and he would just follow. waiting things out wasn’t even an option when it came to you, he knew what he wanted. you cried even while buying your engagement rings, on the wedding dress trial, the day before the wedding, and jake was there, every single time, holding you close, smiling against your lips as his kisses soothed you down. his heart was overflowing with love, with happiness he couldn’t contain.

being engaged was an eccentric feeling overall.

you weren’t his girlfriend, nor his wife. fiancée would be a better term, but jake called it a phase of transition. the knot was yet to be tied, people tried convincing you two out of it left and right. uncertainty spun in the air instead of saccharine smiles that usually cloud the days during weddings. it was the world against him and you— him, you, and your young immature love, a pair of rings exchanged, a promise made, a promise to stay.

and jake chuckles again, half annoyed, perhaps at fate, perhaps at himself. you promised to stay. another sip of alcohol goes down his throat, it tastes bitter than it used to. your picture in his head gets clearer as his vision starts to lose focus, your laughter echoes through the cracks in his heart. it reflects through every corner of his body, it stays inside with a yearning that makes him ache for you. your memory is now a child that he tries to lose in a grocery store, but also a place he comes to at the end of the day because nothing quite feels like home anymore.

‘do you remember that conversation we had about secret codes? one that went on about how even inanimate objects could have ways to communicate? that is how i feel about you. it’s untranslatable, i cannot put it in words for others to understand. it’s a language that only me and my heart know.’

it all started on your very first marriage anniversary— heavy rains, skies painted grey, thunders seemed to exhibit their own orchestral opening. inside, the place was warm, his arms. sitting on the couch as you two sipped on hot chocolate, wrapped in blanket and soft giggles and laughter that emerged everytime one of you tried and stole a kiss. jake constantly apologised for not being able to do much for you and you would so exquisitely whisper to him how nothing matters as long as you have him while tracing your lips all over his face. he doesn’t remember when the conversation went from talking about how your kids would look to discussing whether the paintings hung up on the walls on your living room speak as well. no conclusion was drawn and the whole conversation was discarded as just another silly discussion, although jake knew what to make out of it.

the way you laughed when he tickled your sides, or the giggle that danced off your lips when his lips brushed against the tips of your fingers, the rhythm your heart beat when he placed his head on your chest, holding you ever so close, the conversations you two had by just looking into each other’s eyes. jake still can’t put it in words, it’s beyond the understanding of the world. he can blather about you to the stars and beyond and they would still not know you, but jake knows that if you were to come to him with a face he had never seen and a voice ever so unfamiliar, he would still know you. you’re far too well intertwined in his soul, he feels pieces of himself disappearing every time a distant memory of you blurs in his mind.

and perhaps, the stars will go out before he forgets you.

‘i don’t know if i chose the right university to graduate from, if my major was worth the effort, if giving up on caffeine was actually good for my health. there are a lot of things i’m unsure of, but jake, my darling, you, you’re one thing i know i got right. you’re something i’d choose over and over again, over a thousand times over a thousand years in a thousand different worlds. people have their doubts but i don’t, because i know that if i’m ever given a chance, i’d choose to take your jacket again, i’d have that dance with you, i’d fall for you at nineteen and i’d marry you under twenty-five once again.’

there’s a sense of uncertainty that always plagued his mind, at all points of his life. even now, when he’s sitting by the counter drinking glasses after glasses, an ashtray just a few inches away with the smoke still emerging like lifeless souls looking for their graves. there’s a voice that is telling him to stop, it sounds like you, or maybe, it’s just the alcohol playing tricks again.

he’s not sure.

nineteen year old jake didn’t know if he wanted you. he had a lot on his plate— expectations from people he knew, a whole life in front of him and he was out in the wild, with no plans or whatsoever. you were like another wind blown past him one august afternoon, your smile just another thing his eyes passed by, yet the first thing to flood his mind at night. it’s the sheer lack of certitude— why did he give you his jacket? why did his mind think of only you when it came to the summer festival dance? why is it that only your eyes seemed like his entire world? jake has been walking with his steps laced with hesitation, a fear of what could go wrong. it didn’t matter when it came to you. nineteen year old jake didn’t know if he wanted you, albeit he knew he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

‘you’re probably wondering why i’m writing this instead of telling you when i had the time, or why i didn’t give this to you sooner. it’s because i want you to read this if you ever feel lost, and i wanted to take my time and choose the right words. i wished for a life where i wouldn’t have to live without you, and if i knew that would end up with heavens changing our fates, i would’ve done anything to save you from this pain.’

his eyes are the first to remember. the face that he once cradled in his hands, now just a figment of his memories, an illusion he sees through mirrors and turns around frantically, heart beating out of his chest, hoping you’re still here. sometimes, he sits at the bus stands and formulates your responses to everything happening around. he sighs, brushing his fingers over the wedding ring as he pictures you looking up at him with a smile, as if you’ve never been happier. the way he had felt and the way he feels— the bittersweet ache between having and wanting— your words drown him in that pain over and over again.

loving you, to jake, is like knowing you before he actually got to know you. as if you had always existed in his heart and your presence only completed the puzzle. and in that brief moment between— wrapped in your arms, he would think, how lucky i am— a pause as he snaps back to reality.

how lucky he was.

‘i know this is an impossible bargain, i cannot swap your pain for something else even though i wish i could. i cannot make you forget me so that you can live a better life. it’s a pity, a shame, i’m sorry,’

he furrows his brows at your words, the one about living a better life without you, it’s a lie, a hypothesis never to be true. you held him close at times he didn’t feel like himself, when his own skin disgusted him and his own thoughts told him to cut the string, you wiped his tears and accepted his pain like your own— jake sniffles above the silence in the room— how could he live, when the very person who taught him to live left him forever?

‘so for you, jake, my love, i wish you a lifetime of happiness and health. i want you to read this and realise the impact you had in my life. if you ever feel like we got to spend a very little time together, one that went by in a blink, i want you to know that your presence is something i’d hold in my heart for a thousand lifetimes. i won’t tell you to move on quickly, it’s hard, i know. instead i want you to take your time. go easy on yourself. let me go, one by one, one finger at a time,’

he reads the same words over and over again— let me go. to let you go, oh, how he wishes he could do that, but that’s the consequence of falling in love. jake would go out in the mornings to find a purpose, his ring kept undisturbed on the bathroom counter, and he would return home in the evening, back to silence and sorrow, holding the ring in his hand, fist close to his heart, him on the bed, and the night fills with his sobs.

jake didn’t lose you all at once, but instead, he’s losing you slowly, bit by bit, over and over again. he loses you whenever he absentmindedly calls out your name from across the house, only to be met with cold silence. he walks down the street and loses you the moment he sees a couple walking past him, hands intertwined, realising his hands would forever remain empty. he loses you everytime he thinks of kissing you, holding you, wanting you; every time he sits on the couch and watch the skies pour outside, drinking hot chocolate all alone. he loses you when nights get cold and he has no one to hold, and in the morning when he wakes up to the emptiness across the sheets, he begins to lose you all over again.

it’s hard to let you go, one finger at a time, when everything prompts him to get on his knees in front of the universe and beg for one chance to pull you back in his arms, to hug you for one last time.

just once more.

‘there wasn’t a second spent with you when i wasn’t smiling. you made me the happiest person in this entire world and in return, i wish the same for you. so, go and live the life you’ve wanted to live. do everything you had planned and become the person you want to be. when your friends reach you out, go out with them and drink your heart out. you’re not alone because your love isn’t the first to leave. even worlds apart, i’m with you. i’ll be there next to your favourite umbrella hoping that you remember to take it on rainy days. on nights you can’t sleep, i’ll be there holding your hand and singing to you. one day, you’ll be fifty, and i’ll be there with you. when you turn ninety, i’ll be there and i will still love you the same as i did when we were twenty. and if you fall in love with someone and decide to take the vows again, i’ll be there with you, and i’ll be there hoping for the happily ever after that you deserve.’

and unknowingly, you went away making yet another promise to stay, another commitment you couldn’t keep. jake knows his love isn’t the first to leave, it stays there, waiting, weeping, wanting. it stays everywhere you’ve ever been, next to your favourite mug that is still on the shelf, next to his. his love is with your toothbrush in the bathroom, with the picture of you and him on your very first date that is adorned in the photo frame kept in the bedroom. it’s ingrained in all the post-it notes you wrote to him that he has kept safely in a box, in all the matching jewellery you had got for the two of you, in every corner of the house that cries, yearning for you.

he could be fifty and his love would be still there, in the fading polaroids and letters torn from the corners. at ninety, his love would be still there, waiting for you, his heart aching because he wanted to get old with you by your side. his love will stay there, for a thousand lifetimes, over a thousand years. it turns out, jake is just good at sad things, waiting, holding on, remembering.

‘whatever comes forth, wherever life leads you, know that i am with you,’

as for your words— jake scoffs, burying his head in his hands, tears smudging between his palms and cheeks— loving someone else isn’t even an option.

to him, you, dead, are better than anyone else alive.

‘until we meet again.’

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