"I'm sorry," I finally say.

Right now, the two of us are sitting in front of the little cave we had discovered the first day we came to the waterfall. The sky being overcast, we decided it would be best to remain close to a shelter so that our conversation doesn't get interrupted. The clouds are hesitating to rain down. Hence a shadowy moonlight still persists around us, giving just enough brightness for me to make out the objects in my surroundings.

As soon as I let those words out, a heavy brick is lifted off my chest. But another one still remains in fear of whether the apology will be accepted immediately or not. All I know is that the apology is sincere, and I am ready to explain myself.

I glance at him sideways, and find his gaze fixed on the ground. I decide to continue.

"My whole life," I begin, "I have lived by . . . running away from pain, like most humans do. But unlike most humans, I didn't really run towards happiness either. As long as I could avoid the pain, it was fine with me. Neutrality is the best state of emotion, is what I concluded years ago. Whenever I became mildly happy, there would be a dread rising in me that this happiness is going to fade away soon. So I ran away from sorrow and stayed away from happiness, but in the end, I couldn't escape the hands of either."

I bring my knees to my chest, eyes firmly fixed on the ground. "I realized there is nothing I can do but to accept it. This is what it is to be a human. But though I told myself that I would accept it, I suppose a part of me still clung to the notion. One of the many ways I chose to run away from sadness is to tell lies to myself. I never lied to others, and I could tell when others lied to me. But neither of those are true when it comes to me with me. I lied, and lied, and lied- to the point I came to believe those lies, and any part of me that didn't, I buried them all down. I allowed the questions to come to me occassionally, but pretended I didn't know the answer. My whole life, I've just been fake to myself. My whole life . . . I've just been wronging myself, July.

"But ever since Dawn made that wish, I had to suddenly start changing this huge and significant aspect of my existence. I suddenly had to start facing my pain instead of turning away from it. And with you . . . with you beside me, I then suddenly found myself chasing happiness too, instead of keeping a safe distance from it. Both ends of my life principles started getting destroyed, July. I- I got scared. I got so scared. And whether knowingly or unknowingly, I let that fear consume me whole. I let it control me, my behavior, my actions, my decisions. I know that's not an excuse, and I'm not trying to give any- I just want you to understand why I did what I did."

"I understand," he says in a small voice.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and gulp the stone stuck behind my Adam's apple down. Then I open my eyes, a foreign surge of courage now swelling in my heart. And I say, "But not anymore."

Through my peripheral vision, I see him turn his face to me.

I continue, "But not anymore, July. Because I realized, that no matter what I do, I can't protect myself from being happy, nor can I protect myself from being sad. Maybe I could have, if I wasn't so honest. If I was more aloof to my emotions. But for people like me, it's impossible. It is simply a waste of time, a battle that would never end, a war that has no fruit nor purpose. God has given me two choices, both of which will lead me towards sadness."

He shifts slightly, as if in anticipation.

I take another deep breath. "But there is only one choice among the two, that will also gift me happiness."

I finally turn my face to him, and find his eyes glittering like twinkling stars in the pale moonlight.

I tell him, "You are that happiness, July. And I want to willingly run to you."

His tears break free from his eyes, just like my heart breaks free of the prison of lies. I have freed myself from my own circle, just like Hale Castleton freed himself from his misery. Tonight, here in this massive forest, inside this tiny cave, the two of us are winners.

Tonight, the two of us free.

His eyes squeeze shut as if to block the tears, hands grasping onto the fabric of his pants. My own eyes begin to get wet, but I don't care whether it is from happiness or pain.

"I'm sorry, July," I repeat, aware of how heavy with sincerity the words are now that I've finally discovered a part of myself I was too afraid to. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for hurting you, when all you've ever done is love me."

He shakes his head, but his eyelids and lips are pressed tightly together. He covers his mouth with both his palms, and takes a few minutes to compose himself. I keep staring at him, waiting patiently, while my own heart breaks bit by bit. What have I been fighting for this whole time? A truly pointless thing.

Finally, he speaks up. "I . . . have done something wrong as well."

"Hmm? What?" I feel my brows crease. His unstable voice carries a tinge of guilt.

The reply comes a while later. "I wasn't mad at you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I was in pain, yes, but I was never mad. I can never be mad at you even if I try. And even if I was, being cold and aloof is just not how I would express it. It was . . ." He looks at me. "It was an act, Cedar."

My brows raise up. "An act?"

He nods. "I know how you are. I know you didn't mean anything you said back there. I know you've been bottling up a lot of things for a long time, and I know I pushed you beyond your limit. I also know you were apologetic, but you couldn't apologize because you couldn't come to terms with yourself. Because . . . you're too honest. I knew it all, and I think that's why I felt the need to do it. If I simply told you that I understand, that I know you didn't mean it, then the topic would be over. Then you would again push it to the back of your head. You would never confront it. Things would remain the way they were, and the two of us would just run around in circles."

He bites his lips, a troubled look on his face. "But I took it too far. I guilt-tripped you too much. I think a small part of me really was mad, and that was the part that made me act so cruelly with you. But I didn't want to take it that far. I really didn't. I ended up hurting you more than you were already hurting. You were in so much pain the past few days. A lot of times I just wanted to tell you that I forgive you and that it doesn't matter because I know you didn't mean it. But as I said- that small part of me wanted to take this to the end. It was not the right method. I could have done this in a more positive, less toxic way but- I don't know." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry too, Cedar."

I let that sink in. No wonder his behavior felt so off to me. It's because his coldness was artificial. I was just too exhausted to dwell on the doubt. But now that I think about it, it was a fruitful method in the end. If July wasn't mad at me, I don't think I would have come this far as I have now. I really would just keep postponing these confrontations with myself, wasting more and more of the precious seconds.

"I . . . it's okay," I finally reply with a nod. "You did what had to be done, I think. I also hurt you more than you were already hurting. This whole thing was . . . just wrong. But it doesn't have to be that way anymore. Because- because I've accepted it all the way they are. I think that . . . it will be okay now." I nod again.

"It will be okay now," he softly says. Hearing the sentence from his voice gives me so much happiness.

His gaze moves down. But I keep looking at him. Perhaps, from now on, I won't be able to take my eyes off of him anymore, with the mission to capture every possible image of him through my lens and etch it to my memory forever. The only photographs of him that will exist, will exist in the drawers of my mind.

The moment those photographs begin to fade away, like how Toru's image of Naoko did in Norwegian Wood, July will be forever erased from this world.

The thought is so devastating, that for a moment my head begins to sway, and I get afraid I will collapse.

"What's wrong?" July asks, his hands raised as if to hold me in case I fall, though we both know he won't be able to.

I press my palm against the ground to balance myself, my vision becoming blurry. "I met you too late," I say, the utter devastation evident in the tremble of my voice. "I met you so late, and yet I wasted all those days running away. There's-" A tiny teardrop escapes from the corner of my left eye, the size wildly contrasting the rainstorm in my heart. "There's only 13 days left."

"Cedar . . ." As if on instinct, he comes closer and wraps his arms around me, a chilly blanket enveloping my skin. But he quickly withdraws away. I blink my vision clear to find his arms raised mid-air and his eyes widened to their limits.

"What . . .?" But that's when it hits me.

With a shaky hand, he touches my shoulder. Actually touches it. It doesn't go through my body like smoke, and I distinctly feel the touch on my skin. My heart paces up drastically, but I stay frozen in disbelief. He quickly withdraws the hand and blinks at it. Then he looks at me, and we stare at each other in wide-eyed horror.

A soft gasp escapes his lips, and he covers his mouth. "What in the world . . ."

"Is this- is this real?" I ask, surprised at the desperate surge of hope emerging within me.

He moves his head up and down, still covering his mouth. When it happened, he knew that it did without me touching him. But now that it's back, he didn't realize it?

Maybe this is some kind of dream. The moment I reach out my hands to touch him, he will turn into smoke, and along with him will dissolve the hope blooming too fast inside my heart. Preparing myself to come out of it, I slowly raise my trembling hands and put them on his arms. On his arms. And even when I press harder, my hands don't go right through him.

"Cedar, I don't know how-"

Before I know it, I have wrapped my arms around him, face digging into his chest. The half-cracked glass bottle immediately implodes inside. It splinters into myriad tiny pieces, resulting in an earth-shattering volcanic eruption. Except in place of magma I let out thick, uncontrollable droplets of tears through my eyes. I cry like the world will end in a few seconds and I need to let out every single drop of tear that can possibly exist within, otherwise something will remain unfulfilled for eternity. When his arms come around me, I struggle to breathe and gasp for air. But the tears spill out still, unheeding, having enough of being trapped in.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispers, caressing the back of my hair with his gentle fingers. But I know. I know it's okay. I know, and that's why I am crying. Why would I cry if it wasn't okay? Grief makes us an ice sculpture, love makes us a melted puddle. I know that, so I sob more and more, throat tightening up to the point that I feel like someone is choking me. Yet, I feel no pain in my heart, no heaviness, no burden. I empty them all out, throwing away everything that weighed me down. How liberating it is to cry, and how blissful it is to do so in the arms of someone you love, and someone who loves you the same. How did I end up being worthy of such a gift?

I don't know why I am crying, or what I'm crying for. But I think it's not just one thing that led to this meltdown, but a jumble of many. Regardless, it's hard to believe that I couldn't squeeze out even a tiny droplet of tear just yesterday.

"Cedar, just how long have you been holding it all in?" he asks, hugging me tighter. "Why didn't you just let it out before, slowly?"

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing coherent comes out except sobs. Doesn't he get it? I wasn't holding it in; I simply didn't consider myself worthy enough to enjoy the liberation accompanied by crying.

At some point, I start to get hiccups. Loud, violent hiccups. Then I force myself to cough in order to defeat those hiccups, but my chest aches and my throat becomes hitched. As he rubs my back and holds me right, the hiccups eventually drown along with my sobs.

Then I cry quietly like an adult.

I had read somewhere, that a child becomes an adult when he learns to not cry in front of others but cry silently when he's alone. And I remember thinking: maturity comes with a price. But my adulthood was so far away at that time that the thought inevitably got pushed to the back, behind many simpler and brighter ones. But tonight, out here in this forest, I realize I am indeed heading towards a future where I won't have a chest to cry into, a pair of arms to hold me as I tremble, or the privilege of screaming my lungs out as I sob.

The thought makes me cry more, the tears refusing to dry up like they had on the third day after Dawn's death. Throughout the whole time, I feel him doing so many comforting gestures, reminding me that I'm not crying against a wall, but against another human like myself. He moves his palm against my arm, combs his fingers through my hair, presses his nose to the top of my head, pats my back. Who else will ever do these for me, and who else will I ever allow to do these for me?

My head throbs even more. The volcano is calming down, but the transparent magma isn't stopping. July finally brings his hand to my face to wipe the tears.

"Geez, your tears can solve the water crisis of Middle East all by itself," he says, letting out a chuckle. His chest shakes when he does.

I swallow in the accumulated saliva, then sniff. "You-" Another sob escapes my mouth when I hear how foreign my voice sounds. My temples are throbbing, the pain slowly spreading to the back. I try to speak again. "Y-you forgave me s-so easily." More tears squeeze out. "E-even though I hurt you so much. I- I don't d-d-" I don't manage to finish the sentence, because I feel a lump rising again in my throat. So I clutch his shirt for no reason.

"Our time . . . is too short for me to hold grudges. You already punished yourself enough, Cedar. No more, okay?"

I close my eyes, feeling too exhausted to even nod. Punishing myself is not enough; it doesn't change anything in the end. What I have to do, from now on, is redeem myself. What I have to do, from now on, is to show him all the love I failed to show him before because of my ignorance. That's right. That's what I have to do.

I feel something press against the top of my head again, but it's not his nose this time. It's his lips.

He continues. "Don't be so harsh on yourself, Cedar, deciding what you deserve and what you don't, trying to figure out whether you're worthy of something or not."

I squeeze my eyes shut, the comfort behind those words so deep that they feel like knives.

"I want you to always remember, that the world will never be kind to you, so you have to be kind to yourself."

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As soon as the rainfall in my heart ends, another one begins up in the sky.

July and I hide ourselves inside the cave. The luminosity of the moon now hidden behind thick, dark clouds, the world all around is covered in a foggy darkness. It was impossible for me to comprehend just how dark nights in the countryside can get, because there is always light somewhere, somehow out in the city, creating a fake illusion of safety.

My eyes, persumably swollen, are stinging but dry now. While my head feels heavy with a gradually worsening ache that I'm trying to distract myself from. July is sitting right beside me. I can feel his cold shoulder against mine, but I can barely make him out in the dark. He is but a shadow amidst a band of shadows. So huddled together inside the little cave, we now quietly watch the seemingly endless drizzle outside.

"God knows when this will end," July says, his voice sounding muffled.

"Hmm. It will be hard to get back."

"Yeah."

Silence settles between us then, filled with the song of the rain. We have run out of topics to talk about, or perhaps we're just not in the mood. Yet, I can feel an indescribable tension hovering in the air around us, and I think he is as aware of it as I am.

Thunder booms, and the dark sky momentarily turns into a deep shade of blue, dissolving into black soon afterwards. The sound of the fall grows stronger and stronger by the minute, the wet air carrying the pleasant scent of humidity. Freezing cold crawls up my arms, so I hug my knees tighter. I missed touching July, but his ice cold body isn't helping much here.

"It's quite dark, isn't it?" I hear him ask. I feel surprised at how close his voice his.

"It is," I reply.

"Are you scared?"

"No. You're here. And I somewhat like darkness. Because I can't see anything, and nothing can see me. There is a strange kind of comfort in it. Weird, isn't it?"

"Not at all."

After a moment, I ask, "Are you scared?"

"Nopes, you're here," he says with a soft laugh.

"That's right." I smile. We're here for each other, what could possibly defeat us?

Time, a voice in my head replies. It's my own voice, answering my own question, and yet, I feel a deep hatred towards it rise in my heart. Now is not the time to think about time, I beg to myself. Let me forget about it for once, let me bask in my ignorance.

"Cedar?" he calls, his voice so close that it sends shudders through my whole body, the hair on my skin rising up. He's not speaking loudly to make himself heard in the rain; his mouth is right beside my ear. The thought gives me pinpricks everywhere.

"Y-yeah?" I suddenly remember the reason why our fight on the hilltop happened in the first place. My face heats up furiously.

"Nothing will see us here," he says.

As if hearing his words, another stroke of black paint is brushed over the world, hiding me—hiding us—in the lap of darkness. Unlike my Dawn, I have never been afraid of it, but rather considered it somewhat as a source of solace. As I told July, in the darkness, I can't see anything, and nothing can see me. The sense of protection accompanied by the blindness is an illusion, yet I find it comforting. I can almost convince myself: even time can't see me here.

After all, the significance of my existence is so small, that I can easily imagine it buried behind the shadows of this cave, behind the sound of the sky's tears. Surely something as vast and mighty as time can overlook the little me? Perhaps with the weightlessness of this insignificance, I find the courage to turn my head sideways, to trace his figure in the shadows.

"You're right," I reply.

Not even time is glancing at us right now, I tell myself. Isn't that why this constant drizzle is lasting so long? So I do what anyone free of the chains of time would do—I forget about it's existence. I turn my body to face him, then slowly raise my hand. Naturally, as if by intuition, I find my palm feeling the sharp line of his jaw. There is no mistake; I can sense him in the dark the same way I can sense myself, as if he is my reflection in a mirror.

Thunder drums inconsistent heartbeats overhead, as if asking me to hurry. In the momentary flash of lightning, I find his gaze fixed on me, burning with desire. And I wonder if he sees the same fire in my eyes, flames dancing to the song of the rain. Words don't need to be spoken; we both know what we want, and the storm itself speaks for us. So my hand brushes along his jaw until I find his hard chin. Without delaying further, my fingers then slide up to his cheek, soft, cold, almost unreal. I make his face fully turn to me. Something shifts in the black mist, and I know his nose is right in front of mine, the distance between them a bit lesser than our lips.

In a dreamlike trance, I feel as though I'm grappling with death, reaching out for it in the dark, pulling it so close to me that I can feel it's chill crawl up my skin, freezing my veins, restricting the flow of blood. But July is not death, July is life in a vessel of death, different from me in the sense that I am death in a vessel of life. Which human isn't fighting death, and which human isn't embracing it in defeat at some point? I know, that death will always linger in the shadows, watching me, waiting for the time to come. But even amidst that caliginous fog, I must hold onto my Life, pull him close until I can't breathe anymore, drink in his scentless presence, melt in his embrace. And I will tell Death, I know you will win in the end, and I know I will lose in the end, but I will also fight till the end. Because I am, till the end, just another stubborn human being.

"Cedar . . ." He calls my name. His voice is music, notes drifting wayward from a lyre, whispering the two-syllable word with love and impatience. If heaven is dark then I am already there, if only for a moment.

"Hush," I say.

Even in the pitch black darkness, our lips manage to find each other.

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ugh...i finally got this chapter out 😩 idk how many million times i edited this shit cuz i was starting to feel like a virgin wattpad female author trying to write romance without having experienced it 😩 oh wait-

fuck "i love you" from now on we say "you are that happiness and i want to willingly run to you" 🧚

so sorry to make you guys wait for so long, and so sorry if you expected something more than this but 💀 i ain't gonna describe the kiss scene so y'all have to remain satisfied with this.

those who have read the last chapter of december drizzle, do you recognize the quote, "the world will never be kind to you, so you have to be kind to yourself"? 👀

anyways, huge thanks to TacitusKadari for giving me the idea about how July will get his touchability back :) and thank you all for reading this chapter. it made me very happy to see how many people were waiting for the update. cedar and july are now out of the cold war, and next chapter they will 🏊🏊🌙

take care of yourselves!

- love, Poma