Thinking back now, I don’t think we ever really were on the same page. The first time I met him, I had this feeling that maybe something was inevitable. In the first semester of freshman year, we weren’t really familiar with each other. Our conversations were pretty shallow, and he was always the one to miss out on our late-night chats. I don’t even know when it started, but suddenly he got really into Dota, spending his days gaming with the guys in the next dorm. He didn’t care about anything else, not even his studies. He once mentioned that he didn’t enjoy studying medicine, and by the end of the first semester, it wasn’t a surprise when he failed a bunch of exams. His parents were called in for a talk.
I happened to be the dorm leader back then, and we shared a room. My grades were decent, so when his parents invited me to dinner, they asked me to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t go online too much, and even gave me their contact number. This was the moment we started having more interactions. He’d always try to bargain with me to get on the internet, and sadly, despite my attempts, I couldn’t change him after all these years. The only thing I did was help him cheat to avoid failing. Meanwhile, he carried on with his carefree, somewhat extravagant lifestyle. For the next two years, we had this mundane and passive dynamic.
By junior year, things subtly shifted. We moved to a teaching hospital in the same city for our internship year, and honestly, it was probably the happiest year for me. He kept up with his nightly gaming, sleeping through the day, and his side of the room was always a mess. Eventually, he started sleeping on my bed, the clothes piling up, while I just laid there, half-stunned. It went on like this through the seasons—summer heat to winter chill, and we spent almost an entire year this way, sharing a bed. Then one night, I gathered the courage to kiss him, and even gave him oral sex. He didn’t push me away but didn’t exactly meet me halfway either. The next day, he acted like nothing had happened. That became a pattern, and before I knew it, it had happened a few more times, each time on my bed, but I lost track after the fourth.
Soon after that, he started dating a girl from our class. I wasn’t happy about it, but of course, I couldn’t show it. We were about to get assigned to different internship locations, and feeling a bit low, I ended up choosing to go to City B, while he stayed in City A. He asked why I didn’t stay at school, and I just said I wanted to be closer to home. Before I left, I gave him a scarf as a farewell gift. He asked, "Why the formalities?" and I told him it was a graduation gift since we wouldn’t see each other for a while. I didn’t say goodbye when I left, and when I got settled in City B, I received a call from him asking why I didn’t say anything before I left.
It was December when I got to City B, and on my birthday, he sent his wishes. I had a few drinks, and after some hesitation, I sent him a message saying I liked him. I nervously awaited his response, but when it came, it was simply, "Did you drink too much or something?" I wasn’t surprised. For a straight guy, that’s probably the best response I could’ve hoped for. In August 2013, I moved back to City A for grad school prep, and when I returned, he was there to help me with my luggage. He treated me the same way as always, but I couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. So, I rented a place nearby with some classmates and lived a life as if we had nothing to do with each other.
He moved in with a few classmates, and they all swore they’d study for grad school, but he kept playing games, and I was buried in exam prep. We barely saw each other, and when he did show up to eat with me a few times, I mostly stayed silent and didn’t bother to ask about his life. He must have sensed my coldness because he stopped bringing it up. In December, our school held a job fair. He knew he wouldn’t get into grad school, so he attended the fair instead. During the written test, he came to me for help. For five years, I had never said no to him, no matter what he asked. And I guess that’s why he didn’t refuse when I gave him oral sex.
By February 2014, the last semester before graduation, my roommate and I moved back to the dorms, and it was just the two of us there. It was cold, quiet. Between studying for grad school interviews, regular classes, and finals, we barely spent any time together. One night, the dorm lost power, so I moved to his room to sleep. After a shower, I lay quietly in his bed, and after he showered, he locked the door from the inside. Once again, I ended up giving him oral sex, and I’ll never forget how he held my head while I was doing it.
That night at the graduation dinner, he was drunk and said, “Actually, I care about how you feel.” I didn’t react, because deep down, I understood my place in his life—probably more important than many of his other friends, but it didn’t matter anymore. When I signed up for grad school, I’d already decided I wouldn’t stay in that province, as it was a place full of painful memories. Graduation came, and my roommates saw me off to the station. We drank beer at the station, and I nearly threw up. It reminded me of those times we drank together, and how he always drank for me because he knew I couldn’t.
Time flew by, and it’s been three years now. That feeling of loving someone deeply, that all-consuming feeling, had already drained me when I was 18 or 19. Now, when I see gray skies, it’s just a cloudy day, and a sunset is just a sunset. It’s all right, but something doesn’t feel quite right.
When you love someone too much, life becomes impossible. We’re just ordinary people.
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