A/N: A.J. here. This is my first contribution to the Jogan Gondola, and something possessed me to add to the abundance of angst that this ship sails on. The pattern of the format is based off of a poem we were required to read in English class; I do not own anything but the words. If the style seems unusual, it's because of necessary alterations I've had to make but I am pleased with the end result.

Sepia eyes watched as the blond object of their affections flirted shamelessly with the short, brunet singer. Those same eyes watered as the couple embraced and gazed into each others' eyes, oblivious to their surroundings.

The lone figure huddling behind the marble column stepped away with a crushed heart as salty tears hit the polished floor. Why can't that be me?...

Sepia eyes watched as the blond object of their affections flirted shamelessly with a different, short, brunet singer. Those same eyes watered as the couple's lips met and fingers were threaded together.

The lone figure leaning against the doorway rapidly blinked away the tears and stepped away with a heart twice broken. I'm right here...

Sepia eyes watched as the blond object of their affections flirted shamelessly with yet another, short, brunet singer. Those same eyes remained dry as the tall blond attempted to seduce this unsuspecting but unyielding target of theirs. The determined green-eyed prefect refused to give up, regardless of that.

The lone figure peeking from around the corner of the corridor turned away with the shards of their mangled heart now ground into a fine powder. Look at me.

Sepia eyes remained closed and the rest of the slender body was motionless on the narrow bed. The steady beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the sterile white room; the patient's condition had not changed in the slightest since their admittance several weeks prior.

The towering blond entered and took their usual seat by their best friend's cot. Bright emerald orbs carefully studied the pale, sleeping figure as they never had before, and they thought back to the latter's forced confession-three years of pure and unconditional love finally revealed after not so much as a whisper or any other indication that such deep feelings existed.
A pair of soft lips pressed against the short, brunet singer's forehead and the formerly sightless blond desperately pleaded, "Wake up, J. Please wake up."

And in the hazy dreamland their recovering brain had conjured up, the brunet floated aimlessly through puffy clouds, unaware of the happenings of their mortal shell, feeling no anguish or cowardice. Up here, there was no such thing as heartbreak of humiliation. No sudden bursts of violence that resulted in being brutally thrown into metal desks and bookcases by the enraged blond. No finger-shaped bruises creating purple patterns on their neck, no cuts, no fractured bones, and no scars littering their back. There was only a great sense of calm that draped them like a shawl, and the sepia-eyed individual was at peace. That feeling morphed into joy when the image of the blond object of their affections appeared before them, smiling, and with their beautiful emerald eyes lighting up at the sight of the brunet.

But this was only a dream; reality was the exact opposite of said dream, so they clung onto the fantasy world the same manner they would a lifeline, because who knew what events would take place when all of this ceased to exist? They didn't want to wake up and face the music. Not now. Not ever. There was nothing left for themselves in the real life but unadulterated agony.

So they stayed.

FIN