CW/TW: Heavy topics/discussion of mental health, suicidal thoughts, and ideation.

Luckily, the halls had emptied as I made my way back to the backstage area. Only a few of my classmates remained, along with Alan, whose pensive frown turned to a sigh of relief. He strolled through the room just as Cameron's hand on the small of my back retreated. It didn't bother me if my professor noticed, nor would I have minded Cameron's hand in mine or on my back; it was clear he was trying to give me space, something I appreciated, nonetheless. Alan spared him a wary glance before turning to me, gripping my shoulders to glance me over. Then in an instant, he pulled me into a crushing hug. 

"Don't scare me like that kid," he muttered. 

"Sorry," I mumbled, awkwardly patting his arm. 

"Don't be. I should've taken your concerns more seriously."

I shook my head. "You wanted the best for me. And I shouldn't have hit you."

"Nonsense, I deserved that. You going to be alright?" He glanced at Cameron. "I can bring your violin to the hotel if you want."

The white case on the ground was propped against other instruments, mostly the cellos and basses. While I'd rather hold it for safekeeping, it wouldn't comfort me any more than it already had these past few days. "Yes, please. I'm going to head back if that's okay. With some rest and food, I should be okay."

Alan nodded. "Of course. Get some rest; I'll text you all tomorrow. Call or text me if anything."

"Thank you," I said again. He smiled and patted my shoulder before sending Cameron a look that I could only imagine came off as a silent warning. Not that Alan could ever look intimidating in front of a baseball player of Cameron's stature.

They weren't kidding about the rats in New York—they were more like filthy capybaras. I had never seen them that big before, nor had I seen them this gutsy and fearless in front of humans. 

After nearly three run-ins with them, Cameron and I safely returned to the hotel with a box of pizza, silently agreeing that we never wanted to see another street rat again. How was it that the bubonic plague was not rampant in these streets? Realistically, I knew why, but if a global pandemic were to spread, I would've blamed it on the New York rats first.

Cameron's team hadn't been in the lobby, which was surprising since he had mentioned they were worried about me for whatever reason, texting him at the pizza place and on the way back. 

"Kenji's a bit of a mother hen," Cameron explained as he messaged them back. "Naturally, that extends to pretty much anyone he interacts with, including you. I told him and the others to back off. If given the chance, he'd shove a gallon of water and a bunch of healthy snacks in your face."

"That's kinda sweet of him, though."

Cameron scoffed. "You should've seen him when Daniel caught the flu. It was like he brought the whole pharmacy with him. You must be exhausted and starved; let's head up and eat. I figured it would be overwhelming to have him around."

"Thanks." Cameron wasn't lying; the concerto was tiring enough as it was. Having a full-blown anxiety-induced attack made me want to sleep the rest of the weekend away. Well, not entirely; spending time with Cameron—sans the sobbing mess I was in the bathroom—was something I missed. 

As the elevator doors shut behind us, Cameron cleared his throat. "But don't tell him we ate pizza. He's also our captain and would make me do ten extra laps for this."

I rolled my eyes as Cameron fiddled with the key card to room 512. "Your secret is safe with me."

Cameron made a beeline to wash up and change out of his bathroom-soaked pants as I unpacked the takeout bag of drinks and napkins. 

The pizza, while a bit greasy, was delicious. It was just about the same size as the slice Cameron got yesterday and was just as filling as it looked. Cameron ate what I couldn't finish and groaned about his food baby, falling back onto the bed beside me. Just yesterday, I would've preferred him to sit on the other bed, but I felt at ease like this, with him beside me, like things had returned to normal between us, even if that wasn't completely true.

Resisting the urge to tickle his side, I gestured to the kitchenette. "You didn't have to eat it all, Cam. There's a microwave; you could've had some for breakfast."

He shrugged. "And miss out on hitting that breakfast place across the street?"

"Sure, you do you."

He propped himself up with his elbows. "How're you feeling?

"Physically better," I said truthfully. "Mentally, still drained."

He pursed his lips. "I wish I could be more of use there."

"You've helped me a lot already, Cam. Both today in the bathroom and the past. You were always there for me, and that alone helped make me feel better."

He nodded slowly, worry still etched on his face. 

"I'm serious," I told him. "From being there when my parents were driving me mad about career choices, to my concerts, to our late-night drives blaring your favorite Taylor Swift songs or my favorite musicals. You were there for me in ways I hadn't expected anyone to ever be there for."

"Eth?"

"To my silly rants and tirades about our classmates or the world's political climate."

"What is this about?" He tilted his head. 

"It's just..." I faltered.

When had I ever been there for him? Especially after that night. It was unfair to ghost him and remove him from my life when he had done nothing but be there and support me. And here he was, unapologetically being by my side—despite everything—wishing me the best.

It was only fair that I told him the truth. With all of his honesty, patience, and ability to look past everything I had done, I owed him that much. 

Even if it physically pained me to tell him that it had nothing to do with him at all. That it was strictly me. He deserved to hate, spite, and, most importantly, forget me for good. And I'd take the anger and frustration; it was the disappointment I worried about. Would he look at me differently? See me as much of a coward as I felt after that night? So much so that I refused even to message him. 

"Ethan." His hand hesitantly reached for mine like he would in the past. This time, I let him hold them. His thumb traced over the veins on the back of my hands. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

It was like he could read my mind. "Just thinking."

He hummed. "Nothing negative, I hope."

"Over dinner yesterday," I stalled. "I promised I'd tell you."

His brow rose, his mouth opening before closing. He looked at the space between us. "You don't have to say it. Not now if you aren't ready. Today's already been a lot."

"I know," I said too quickly, facing him. "It's just I promised I would. It's the least I could do."

"Eth—"

"Don't," I interrupted, squeezing his hand back before pulling it away from his. "Don't disagree with me, please. I owe you that much. I left you in the dark for years; the least I could do is tell you why."

Cameron didn't look convinced; the early curiosity from yesterday all but vanished, washed away with pure concern. "Ethan, if I can wait nearly four years, I can wait a little longer. Maybe you should get some sleep first."

I shook my head. I needed to get it out and say it before I could devise some poor excuse to lock it away again. Even if Cameron did live in peace without ever finding out, it would forever remain a question mark in his past that no one but I could answer. It was selfish to keep it from him.

"It wasn't even a week after graduation," I started. Not even a week after the wallpaper on his phone of us was taken. "The day I called you."

The day I had broken his heart. 

His expression was saddened, likely remembering it all too well. "It was four days. Four days before we were going to go on a trip together. I remember."

I nodded, remembering how he had wanted to travel to Times Square as our graduation gift, a trip we certainly couldn't afford but dreamt of together for years. But I had torn that dream and any subsequent dreams of us together that day.

"That day," my words faltered like a solemn note, melding with the rest of the orchestra. "That day I called you, I couldn't tell you—didn't have it in me to say it, so I broke up with you. I thought it would be easier that way."

"Easier?" He blinked. "To say what?"

Gnawing at my bottom lip, the shame and guilt of it all returned. "It was a goodbye, Cameron."

"That's what a breakup is," he said, confused. While I had deluded myself by saying ignorance is bliss and keeping him in the dark and away from all of my issues, it was clear that it wouldn't have resolved anything, especially if I had succeeded that day. There would be no way to tell him why if I had, I hadn't even bothered to draft a letter to leave behind.

"No, a permanent goodbye." His head tilted, so I clarified, "It was the day I had planned to be my last, Cam."

I couldn't meet his eyes, fearing whatever conflicted and painful emotion would cross his face. A part of me hoped he'd be furious and tell me I was stupid for ever thinking that removing myself from this earth would solve anything. I'd accept the anger far more easily than the heartbreak. I didn't want to see the hurt in Cameron's eyes. It would hurt him worse than the breakup, and I hadn't even seen his face when I called and told him that I was breaking up with him.

"I just," my words lodged in my throat. "It wasn't you, I swear. It was never you. I—I just was so...tired. Burnt out? I just couldn't handle it anymore. I...I'm sorry, Cam."

Apologizing wouldn't be enough; I knew that much. But I still hoped it would get through to him. I hadn't meant to fail him, hadn't meant to be such a failure. 

It was always first place or failure, no in between.

If I couldn't be a prodigy who got top marks and was accepted to Juilliard, did I really succeed? If I didn't prove to my parents that I could've made it as a music teacher instead of pursuing a STEM career, didn't that automatically make me a failure? There was no win-win scenario; I had never learned to accept second, third, or even last place. 

But that day, in a whirlwind of emotions, I had decided I had a choice, a way out—one way to escape the treacherous hellscape that was expectations—a way to succeed, albeit unconventional.

I had decided I was done being a failure; if there was one thing I wanted to succeed in, it was that.

But I didn't go through with it. I had chosen to be a coward, a failure that day. And while I had been so angry at myself for it, I was happy to have failed that day. Happier now that I hadn't done something so irrational and stupid. 

It was Cameron that I had thought of then, at that moment. With a handful of pills in my hand, Cameron was in the forefront of my mind, someone I had cared too much about to let him deal with the aftermath. Not my parents, teachers, or high school friends. He was the reason I chose to live that day—the reason that kept me hanging on during that turbulent storm. 

It wasn't that I was scared of what he'd think about me for doing such a thing; I was scared of how it would affect him.

And as my tear-filled eyes looked up at his pain-stricken expression, I knew I had made the right choice that day.