Decorated cage.

"I'd rather have the peace of nothingness than be in a decorated cage of duties."

That morning tasted like copper and old rain. A sharp jolt that violently pulled Gure from the sky and slammed her back into the cage of her bedroom. Her lungs screamed for air she hadn't been allowed to keep, her fingers twitching with the phantom sensation of wind ripping through, and an overwhelming sense of relief.

Her phone beside her bled sound into the otherwise suffocating room.

She picked it up on the first vibration after she saw the contact name, "Sugar." She didn't greet. She couldn't. Words were too jagged, too heavy to force past her lips.

— "...Gure?"

A voice spoke. Sam's. It was a thread of a web, ready to wither under the weight of terror she held. It was the voice of someone who just watched her hope fall.

—"Yeah."

Gure whispered, her voice a ghost of sound, dusty like an abandoned attic.

—"I... Thank God, you're safe! I had a terrible dream, so I—"

Sam chuckled as she spoke in relief before Gure interrupted her.

—"What was in the dream?"

Gure asked, her voice urgent. Sam was taken aback. But she continued anyway.

—"Uhh... Well, you were on the ledge of the rooftop. And... and you were about to jump when I came, and I... I couldn't save you. I'm sorry, love. I know I should've tried better.",

Sam muttered the last words like a confession which suffocated her.

The call stayed silent for a heartbeat

—"Gure, are you okay?"

Sam whispered when she didn't get a reply, sounding worried.

—"...huh? Yeah... I'm fine. Sam, can I tell you something?"

—"Go ahead. You don't need to ask."

—"I don't think it was a dream. I had the same one..."

—"What?!"

Sam said, raising her voice. The barely receded tremble was quick to return in her voice.

—"Calm down first—"

—"No! It... It could be coincidence! We're soulmates, right?! It could be telepathy or... or anything! Yeah...! Telepathy! That's... it—"

—"Hey... Hey, Sam, you gotta calm down first."

Gure interrupted.

—"We'll figure it out."

—"You did that because of that offer for hand in marriage... right?"

No response came.

—"Love! Answer me! You did it because of that, didn't you?!"

—"It's not real anymore. Don't worry... I won't die."

—"No! I don't believe you! But you have to trust me! Please, Gure! Please stay. We'll figure a way out! We always do and we've always done!! Don't choose this... I-I'll book a train and... and we can run away!!"

—"We can't... You know that, Sam. We can't."

Gure explained, her voice calm as if talking to a frightened child. But Sam? Sam couldn't think straight, and she certainly couldn't bear the sight of her love being torn away from her again. It was as horrifying of a scenario as it could be.

Sam's voice was full of fierce, desperate fire. A warrior or a knight trying to save her queen along with their kingdom. She wanted to fight the clock, map out the strategies, and tear the universe apart just to save her lover from destroying herself.

But Gure didn't care, at least not enough about herself to match Sam's fire. She didn't want to fight a fight against the clock in which she was destined to lose, but it hurt more than she would like to admit. So, she got tired of it. She got tired of the clock and the agonising seconds it mocked her with.

— "Gure, we can get to the station! We can leave before your parents even realise you're gone! If we just cross the state line before noon—"

Sam took a shuddered breath.

— "Sorry... I, uhhh... I know I'm being irrational but... can we just... try?"

Her voice was deeper than usual, carrying anxieties she was scared would come true.

Gure sighed.

— "I can't, Sam."

She stared at the dust particles floating lazily through the sliver of morning light peeking in through the gap in the window curtain. She felt hollowed out, like an instrument restrung too many times until the word gave out. Sam talked about survival. But survival sounded less like living and more like endless ticks and tocks of an arrogant clock that refused to slow down to let her breathe. It meant suffocation.

Sam's hope was a heavy, blinding thing. But to Gure, it was yet another decorated expectation she was bound to fail.

— "Okay..."

Gure's voice entirely devoid of colour. She couldn't argue when it was hard for her to even speak.

— "We can try."

— "You don't even sound like you're here, love."

Sam whispered, a bit broken herself.

— "Don't leave me, please... Not before the day even starts."

Her voice came out more and more broken, fractured with every syllable she uttered.

— "I'm here..."

Gure consoled, or lied, softly. The last thing she wanted was to make Sam sad.

But a part of her was already back on the rooftop, the ledge, looking down at the concrete, dark street below.

She remembered the split second before the wind took her. The absolute silence. The silence without expectations, without decided cages called as "future planning", without silk dresses or arranged smiles for a heart hers didn't desire.

One was looking for a way out. The other waited for the sun to dip low enough so she could befriend the darkness again.