1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

24 | fornax

THE DRINK IN HIS HAND TASTES SOUR. Wrong, somehow, like it's not supposed to be there as the condensation drips down the skin of his wrist and onto the bar. And everything in him is screaming to go back—to go back to her, but he can't convince himself to leave.

Because it's tiring. Always watching himself around her is growing exhausting, and when Jonah looks at her, all he sees is a beautiful tragedy with an unknown ending, the words swirling and swirling into an endless abyss with fiery comets. And that look in her eyes when she'd begged him not to go causes him to take a swig of the bittersweet whiskey, wincing as the amber liquid burns on its way down. He assumes that it's the alcohol that makes him emotional, but Jonah's well aware that he's just an emotional person in general, and so he can't stop the choked sound that escapes his mouth and pierces into his bleeding heart.

It gets him to thinking that perhaps Eloise has never really loved herself, but—but what does that mean? Jonah thinks silently, head aching and fingers trembling. He doesn't have an answer to his own question and instead flickers back to the definition of being comfortable in one's own skin: too much is considered arrogant, but not enough defines itself as having a sense of low self-esteem. The line between the two blurs with every passing second, and Jonah closes his eyes as he again lifts the light glass to his mouth, ignoring the stares he gets from other acquaintances and students surrounding him.

His body jerks as he feels the seat next to him being taken, and just as he gets up to move, a hand grips his wrist roughly. "You look like shit," Adrian tells him, and he's grateful for the lack of sugar-coating his friend applies because it's true.

"Yeah," Jonah mumbles out, sitting back down awkwardly. He feels out of place here under the neon lights and flashy music, but he figures it's better than going back to his place only to argue some more. "Yeah, I know."

"What happened?" Adrian orders a white beer and turns his attention to the boy in the loose sweater, golden hair falling into one eye as he brushes it aside. "Did you guys fight?"

He nods and feels his mood even worsen to gradually fade into a pitch-black darkness, spreading over his sanity like rain clouds and causing everything to expire. "I should've just stayed quiet," Jonah mutters, twisting the ring on his finger. "Fuck, I—I shouldn't have said anything. She didn't need to hear that."

Adrian stays silent for a bit. "What do you mean?"

Looking at her is agonizing.

"How do you catch someone who's already falling?"

At that, the blond's shoulders flinch and he slumps back down on the counter alongside his best friend, glaring at a girl behind him that's about to approach. Jonah feels like he's halfway inside a dream and bordering the sections of fatal reality and dizzy heartbreak; there's no escape when he's in this deep, and the ocean of silence is terrifyingly tempting.

"It depends if they want to be saved."

Jonah closes his eyes and downs the last remains of his drink, shoulders curling in on themselves as if on natural instinct. There are so many things haunting her—he can see it whenever she looks at him—and he needs to help, needs to do something, but she has to want it. Has to want to open up and face all of the demons creeping around her nightmares. And he knows it can't be easy, but he's scared of what can happen if she keeps her routine, and yet the thought of losing her terrifies him even more.

The movies and the books write love to be a simple, unconditional thing: embraces, star-crossed lovers, and occasional tears. But if this is what being in love with someone is like, Jonah hopes that he'll stop hurting soon—because his heart aches and it feels like everything is spiraling into a sand funnel with no sense of space or time.