Some day

He can barely see the stars from his position on the bed, looking out the window in the middle of the night,and fighting sleep.

He knows tomorrow is his last day. 

He has to leave the one person that makes him happy. 

The one that hung a wrecking ball in his gut and set it to the function of a pendulum. Its now a swinging weight, and has become the sole time keeping element of his life, keeping him stable. 

Or like a hula hoop. 

He's the hoop that's swinging around, even when he's exhausted at times and just wants to stop for a minute. He can't, because he knows that he would fall down if he stops.

And that person, he has to let go. Tomorrow is his last chance. 

The sun is gonna rise in a few hours, the day is gonna slip through his fingers like a fist full of sand, without him being able to do anything about it. 

Sleep consumes him even as he struggles and refuses to let time jump ahead while he is asleep. 

He doesn't want to go back to being temporarily dead. 

He wants to stay awake, and alive, every second of the night and the day that follows, intertwining their fingers tightly, as if he can stop their hand from slipping away with his strength.

The sun wakes him up through the window, and, having heard all his suffering and whining to stay awake during the night before, was probably expecting gratitude, but the second he opens his eyes, he resents the sun and wishes for the star to go start revolving for once and to get away from the earth.

Or to revolve in correspondence to the earth so that it will forever be today.

Maybe then, perhaps, he would be able to appreciate the day better.

Because he does have them in their arms, right now, doing a better job at keeping him warm, than the blanket is. 

And if he weren't so scared about the sudden coldness he'd have to deal with tomorrow, he could let the warmth reach his mind, and let the day make him some fond memories.

The day is supposed to be his last happy day with the one, but he can already feel the adjective slipping out of the sentence.

But no. He cannot let that happen.

Cannot lose his present as well.

So he gains strength, takes a deep breath,and wills himself to open his eyes again, which automatically darted towards them, like its as natural as blinking.

Like that's what his eyes are supposed to be doing, when they're not blinking or sleeping, looking at them. 

The one's occupied with their phone, the laughter in their eyes highlighted by the light from the screen. Some meme, probably. 

So ignorant of the feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

He wants to stop time and appreciate them, or to slow it down, slow it down so much that he doesn't want to feel it move. 

The crinkle at the corner of their eyes. 

The loopsided smirk? probably for understanding a difficult pun. 

And now, as they turn towards him, the dark grey in their eyes. He didn't know before, that darkness could be so full of light. 

He didn't know that they could suck a person in like this. Like a blackhole. Like a void. 

Except, he wants, or maybe needs, to be the victim.

Bloody succubus!

A huff escapes his lungs, as he closes his eyes. 

"Grumpy, first thing in the morning?", he can hear the teasing in the voice.

The sound of their phone being plugged in to charge, the squeak and the matress shift beside him makes him blink his eyes open.

 Tender and smiling eyes, looking back at him.

So lovely that they can bring a smile on his otherwise permanently frowned face. 

So granted he took them, before.

All those days when he didn't know what to do with them, he could've just done this. 

Look at them. Listen to them. Breathe with them. Breathe for them. 

"Excited about the day?" He asks, carefully, not saying last, the word that's screaming into his ears from inside his mind.  

The visible excitement without a trace of worry as they sit up, plug out the phone and reopen the ticket picture for the hundredth time almost makes him glad because they don't deserve this pain that he's feeling.

A theme park. A happy day. 

So that's what he gives them. And that's what he tries to have. 

And they both explore the meaning of bittersweet, like the reflections of them both in the society. Him bitter, them sweet. 

And as they bid goodbye in the night, when he lies down, on the bed, with them by his side, them still slightly smiling at him, a hint of sadness now, though, but not so much as him,no, this is a bit like pity, like when the fairy has to bid a child goodbye. 

Which is funny, because he thinks she is kind of like a child that he would adopt for the day. 

But no, he is the child adopted for the day, to give him a taste of what he doesn't have the other days. 

Only to take it back.

And let him starve, for days, until he feels like he'd die. And then give it to him again, to make him live, for two days, but not really because the second day he starts deteriorating.

And then ever so sweetly, making him look like the bitter one.

Its like they're the perfect definition of a sadist, he thinks, as he subconsciously snuggles in, breathes them in, one last time.

"Satan", he sighs.

In reply, comes a smile that he can hear, and a moment later feel, against his lips. 

Like the kiss of Judas. 

To a bull left in a fight to it's death. 

Or to a man left in his life to live the everlasting undeath.

"Stay alive until next time, and we might go scuba diving!"