IN WHICH: CORTIS has a fanmeet somewhere in Seoul, their fans bustling; Martin flirting with fans.. but a familiar face who isn't so familiar anymore approaches. Someone James once laughed with. Someone he can barely recognise anymore.
CONTAINS: Poorly written icl, angst no comfort, misunderstandings.
-> NOW PLAYING: anything, by adrianne lenker.
"Thank you for coming," James greeted with familiar ease, taking the album of the fan in front of him, effortlessly signing away as he looked up.
He could've sworn he couldn't exhale after that.
"Hi James." you greeted with a polite nod, seated there as if you were a fan yourself. Your eyes were soft, still the same after all those years β yet they shone with experience. They were bright but looked like they've been through a lot.
"You.." he breathed out alas, pushing the album back forward. Cameras were watching, as much as he wanted to cryβ he couldn't. He needed to act normal, who knows what the fans would do to you. Paparazzi, saesengs.. he blocked you all those years ago for a reason.
His pride and joy.
"You're really attractive." he smoothly changed topic, flashing the charming smile he showed the fans. Not the one you saw whenever he'd be tired after a day of hockey practice, or maybe the smile he showed you when he got into a lineup with Trainee A.
You paused, shocked. Does he not remember everything? You felt conflicted. Like all the reason you came here was gone. The truth is, after the years flew by β you never really moved on from sweet loving James.
Looks like he already did.
"James do you not remember β"
"I'm sorry I really don't. Where'd you get your necklace? It's pretty." it was the necklace he gave you all those years ago.
He couldn't tell you he missed you more than the ice skating rinks he used to compete in, the same ones he'd hear your cheers. The times you were his only fan.
"Ah thank you, someone.. someone special gave it to me." James tried so hard not to cry when you dared even utter those words out.
You looked hurt, you didn't know he wanted you back in his arms so bad.
"That's nice. I hope our music reaches the special someone too." he grinned, easy and practiced. But at this rate, nothing felt easy. The air felt tight and eyes held effect to him more than ever. Every natural charm he had was thrown out.
He wasn't charming when he was with you. He was himself.
Sitting in front of you, wasn't your James. It was the same James he promised he'd never treat you as all those years back.
"Yeah, it does. We listen to Lullaby a lot. Reminds me of him, how he's always tired. He did hockey and loves dancing."
The James you sat across was a façade. Maybe this was meant to happen.
Your words hit hard, too hard. He feels his soul bleed each word, and each second your gaze stays in him. His thigh bounces from under the table, as his heart begged to cry. But his body couldn't. Not when it was trained for these moments.
Maybe he really did leave you cause he hated you. But he didn't.
He couldn't tell you that now. Not when everyone was there watching. James' body hurt so much. It needed to envelope you in the familiar hug.
He couldn't even smell you due to the table separating you, he couldn't smell if you still had your scent from years ago.
The manager signalled that time was up, and it was time to move for the next member. "You're awesome James." and with that, you moved to the next member.
You converse with the other members normally, but they know you. Of course they know you. James never shuts up about you.
First it was Martin you spoke to after James. He knew you instantly, but pretended not to. His eyes check on James, he knows what he's feeling inside. Martin puts on the fan service façade and let's the magic flow through.
Second it was Seonghyeon, he noticed the necklace that rested on your neck. The necklace James would rant about how you always asked James to help you wear it. He frowns to himself, sensing your pain too.
Third it was Keonho, he's not good at hiding he notices things. But he does so for his hyung. He's seen your face more times than he's hit Seonghyeon for fun. That says a lot.
Lastly it was Juhoon, who was more quiet. He doesn't know how to tred. He knows how much James misses you, after allβ a photo of you both is placed in their shared dorm room. Often were the times he'd catch James staring into it in regret.
After that fansign, you left with a heavy heart. Maybe he did leave you. Maybe he did move on.
You step out the venue, footsteps heavy as your hands fiddled with your bag to open your phone. Lock screen was your friendgroup, home screen was him. With you.
Back in the hall, his smile doesn't reach his eyes, as he signed albums like a puppet. He remembers the company's warning. How they told him that he couldn't date at all when he debut. Now he's here, away from them.
His pathetic coping mechanism back then, was: saesengs could do a lot to them.
It was unhealthy now. He was so sure you'd be killed or something if he showed any affection, or yearning in public.
He misses you too much it drives his mind insane. Literally.
ZHAO YUFAN βΆ π ATE NIGHT CπNVERSATIONS FOR THE PLATONIπALLY DOOMED
SYN you can handle your drunk best friend. you can handle his whining, his dramatics, even the possibility of him throwing up on your couch. what you can't handle is him looking you in the eye and start confessing every feeling he's buried since the day he met you.
βͺβͺβ€οΈβ¬ Ω° zhao yufan β f!r βΉπΉ βΈ» the art of loving π
you're kneeling on the floor in front of the couch with three different medicine packets spread beside your knee, trying to remember which one doesn't make people drowsier than they already are.
the apartment smells faintly like alcohol and peppermint because you'd forced james to chew gum the second he stumbled through your door, swaying with one shoe untied.
a bucket sits beside the couch within arm's reach, a bottle of water balanced on the coffee table, and your phone is plugged in nearby in case he suddenly decides he's dying and needs emergency reassurance at three in the morning.
meanwhile, he's completely relaxed about the whole thing, sitting there with his head tipped back against the cushions and his hands folded over his stomach like he's on vacation instead of one bad movement away from throwing up. every few seconds he watches you move around with lazy eyes, following you silently while you mutter to yourself about electrolytes and whether soup would've been smarter than instant noodles.
"you're doing too much," he says eventually, his voice rough and sleepy as he watches you crouch by the table for the third time in five minutes.
"you said the room was spinning," you remind him without looking up, tearing open the medicine box to double check the dosage instructions again.
"yeah, but in a fun way," he replies with a lazy grin, shoulders sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
you shoot him a flat look while unscrewing the cap off the water bottle. "drink before you start speaking nonsense again."
"i've been speaking nonsense since birth," he takes the bottle from you with both hands because his coordination is terrible right now, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.
you sigh and move closer, pushing his hair back from his forehead because it keeps falling into his eyes every time he blinks. he lets you do it without complaint, sitting unusually still while you stretch the soft headband over his head and tuck the loose strands away from his face.
the second your fingers brush near his ears, he closes his eyes with a dramatic exhale almost like you've just granted him peace after years of suffering.
you ignore him and lean back to inspect your work, making sure nothing's bothering his skin because drunk james becomes weirdly sensitive to everything. his gaze stays fixed on you the entire time, heavy and unfocused but quieter than usual and that makes you nervous.
"you're pretty," he says suddenly, staring at you with the kind of sincerity only drunk people seem capable of.
you don't even look up from the medicine packets in your lap. "you're drunk. you must be seeing things."
"no, i mean it," he insists softly, brows furrowing slightly, hating that you brushed it off so quickly.
"mhm," you hum absentmindedly, pretending to focus very hard on reading the back of the medicine box.
"did i ever tell you that before?" he asks after a pause, voice quieter as he tilts his head against the couch.
you pretend not to hear him, too busy rearranging things on the table that honestly don't need rearranging anymore. the bucket is already in the perfect spot, the water bottle is full, and the medicine instructions are facing upward so even half asleep you could read them, but keeping your hands occupied feels safer than acknowledging the softness in his voice.
james watches you for another long moment before shifting slightly on the couch, the blanket sliding down one shoulder as he tilts his head. his eyes look glossy under the dim light, but there's something oddly awake about the way he's staring at you.
you can already tell he's about to start talking again, and drunk people always say things they don't remember later. right?
"the first time i met you," he starts slowly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, "i thought you hated me."
you snort quietly at his words. "because i did."
"no, you didn't," he argues, shaking his head against the couch cushion with sleepy confidence.
"i remember rolling my eyes at you," you remind him, lips twitching into a small smile.
"yeah," he says with a crooked, tired grin, "and i liked you immediately because of it."
you finally glance over at him properly, and he's smiling to himself, probably replaying the memory in his head. his fingers tap lazily against the water bottle while he talks, words slightly slurred but still clear enough for you to understand every single one.
outside, rain taps softly against the windows, filling the spaces between his sentences while you stay crouched beside the couch listening. he looks strangely boyish like this, hair pushed back with the ridiculous plush headband and cheeks warm from alcohol and exhaustion. it makes him easier to look at and harder to ignore at the same time.
"you were sitting in the corner at that stupid party," he continues, blinking slowly as his gaze drifts back to you. "everyone else was trying so hard to look cool, and you looked miserable."
"i was miserable," you admit dryly, leaning your shoulder against the side of the couch.
"and you kept glaring at me every time i got loud," he says, sounding far too amused by that fact.
"you were very very loud," you point out, remembering exactly how unbearable he'd been that night.
"but you still handed me your charger when my phone died," he murmurs, smile softening at the edges.
you remember that night embarrassingly clearly once he mentions it. he'd spent nearly an hour making people laugh in the middle of the room while you sat on the armchair wishing your friend would finally decide to go home already.
at some point he'd dropped onto the floor beside you out of nowhere, smiling like you'd been friends for years, and asked if you had a charger because his phone was 'on spiritual life support.' you expected him to leave after that, but instead he stayed beside you talking nonsense until two in the morning, counting your silence as participation.
looking back on it, that was probably the first mistake either of you made.
james watches recognition settle across your face and laughs softly to himself.
"i remember thinking," he murmurs, rubbing sleepily at one eye, "βshe's mean, but like . . . in a pretty way.β"
"you're actually unbearable drunk," you tell him, even while heat creeps annoyingly into your face.
"no, no, listen," he says quickly, lifting a hand toward you as if trying to physically stop you from brushing him off again.
"you need water, not a confession, james," you mutter, reaching over to push the bottle closer to him anyway.
"i thought you were the kind of person who'd leave early and never talk to me again," his voice drops softer near the end that you almost miss it over the rain. the joking tone fades little by little until he's just looking at you with tired honesty sitting heavily behind his eyes.
you stop fussing with the medicine box and lean back against the couch instead, arms resting loosely over your knees while he talks.
"but then you kept showing up, you know?" he starts blinking heavily while his thumb rubs against the condensation on the water bottle. "you answered my messages even when they were stupid."
"yeah, they usually were stupid," you reply quietly, unable to stop the small smile pulling at your mouth.
"you remembered things about me," he continues, eyes still fixed on you.
"well, someone had to," you joke weakly, trying to lighten the sudden heaviness in the room.
"and every time i thought maybe you were getting tired of me, you'd do something that proved you weren't."
for a second neither of you says anything after that. the apartment falls quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the rain outside your windows.
your bestfriend stares at you with heavy eyelids, looking seconds away from passing out, but knowing him and his stubbornness, he will fight sleep just to keep talking.
"you make me feel safe," he says quietly, gaze dropping toward his hands for the first time.
your breath catches before you can stop it. "okay. you're definitely drunk."
"i know," he agrees with a small, tired smile, looking back up at you again. "still true, though."
"you should sleep before you start getting emotional. don't wanna see you cry your eyes out," you mumble, looking away first because holding eye contact suddenly feels impossible.
you don't know if he'll remember any of this tomorrow morning, and honestly you're not sure which possibility is worse. because if he forgets, then this becomes yours alone to carry.
"i met you and suddenly wanted to stay alive long enough to see you again the next day," he says softly. "that's kinda emotional already."
you stare at him for a long second, completely speechless for once in your life. he just blinks slowly back at you from under the ridiculous headband, looking so calm after casually dropping something devastating into the middle of your living room.
then, like the universe deciding you've suffered enough emotional damage for one night, his expression abruptly twists. you react instantly, grabbing the bucket and shoving it toward him while he groans and folds forward.
"oh myβ waitwaitwait," you mutter, scrambling closer while holding the bucket steady in front of him. "there he is."
"i think i'm dying," he groans into his hands, voice muffled and pathetic.
he stays folded over the bucket for another minute, breathing dramatically like he's just survived something life threatening instead of one too many drinks and a bad decision involving tequila.
you sit beside him on the couch, one hand rubbing slow circles against his back while the other keeps the water bottle balanced on your knee.
his hair keeps slipping out from under the headband no matter how many times you push it back, strands sticking slightly to his forehead from the warmth in the room.
the second he leans away from the bucket, you immediately hold the water toward him with narrowed eyes because you already know he's going to fight you on this for absolutely no reason. sure enough, he squints suspiciously at the bottle.
"drink," you tell him firmly, nudging the bottle closer to his chest.
"i don't want it," he complains instantly, voice rough as he sinks deeper into the couch.
"you just threw up."
he turns his head away the second you try to hand it to him. you stare at him in disbelief before grabbing his jaw lightly to force him to look at you again. his skin feels warm under your fingers, cheeks flushed from alcohol and exhaustion, eyes half-lidded in stubborn refusal.
normally he's annoying in a loud, energetic way, but drunk james becomes difficult like a sleepy child fighting bedtime.
"james, please," you sigh tiredly, scooting a little closer so he can't avoid you as easily.
"i said no," he mutters immediately, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere near the floor instead of looking at you.
"you need water."
"i need the room to stop moving first," he complains weakly, pulling the blanket higher over himself.
"you're making this harder than it has to be."
"nah."
"please just one sip," you plead, trying to push the bottle back into his hands again. "you're going to wake up feeling horrible tomorrow."
he groans softly under his breath but still refuses to take it from you. you reach over, brushing his hair back again because it's sticking to his forehead from sweat. the second your fingers touch him, he goes quiet. his eyes close briefly like he's trying to focus on that instead of the nausea twisting through him.
"just a sip and i'll stop bothering you. promise."
"you never stop bothering me," he murmurs lazily.
"i'm serious."
"so am i."
"okay, jamesβ"
"i like you."
the words cut cleanly through the middle of your sentence. your hand freezes around the water bottle while he keeps looking at you with this awful honesty that makes it impossible to pretend he's joking.
the room suddenly feels too warm, too quiet, every sound outside the apartment fading underneath the sharp pounding in your chest. james doesn't look away after saying it either. if anything, he looks relieved.
"you're drunk," you say quickly, forcing your expression into something unaffected even while your chest tightens painfully.
"i know i'm drunk," he says quietly, his brows pulling together slightly. "but i'm not confused."
"you don't mean that."
"yes, i do. i've meant it for a long time."
you look away first. "james . . . "
he watches you carefully, trying to decide whether he should stop talking while he still has the chance. but something about the way your fingers tighten around the water bottle must give you away a little because his expression softens instead of shutting down.
he leans his head back against the couch again with a quiet exhale, eyes fixed on the ceiling for a second before drifting back to you.
"i think i realized it the night you stayed with me at the hospital."
months ago, sometime past midnight, james had called you sounding strangely calm after getting into a minor accident on his way home. he kept insisting he was fine, said it wasn't serious, told you not to come because he'd probably get discharged soon anyway.
you completely ignored him, of course. you showed up at the hospital twenty minutes later still wearing pajama pants and mismatched flip flops because you left so fast you hadn't even noticed.
"you were angry at me," he continues quietly, eyes lowering toward his hands. "like genuinely angry."
"because you got hurt."
"no," he says softly, shaking his head once. "because you were scared."
you swallow hard but say nothing.
"i think nobody's ever looked at me like that before." he's talking slowly, carefully, like each sentence costs him something to admit out loud.
you remember sitting beside his hospital bed at two in the morning while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and he kept trying to joke around despite the cut near his eyebrow and the bandages wrapped around his wrist. you'd spent hours pretending to be annoyed with him because being angry was easier than admitting how terrified you'd felt getting that phone call.
"you stayed the entire night even after i told you to go home and you fell asleep sitting in that horrible chair beside me."
you look down at the water bottle in your hands.
"and every time i woke up," he continues softly, "you were still there. i remember thinking that if i lost you someday, i genuinely wouldn't know what to do with myself."
there's nothing playful about his words anymore, nothing easy to laugh off or blame on alcohol. he looks exhausted saying it, eyes slightly red from being sick and tired and maybe from holding this inside for too long.
you don't think you've ever heard him sound this vulnerable before. james is always the person filling silence, making people comfortable, making everything lighter than it really is. but right now he sounds almost scared.
"you make everything feel less lonely," he admits quietly.
your throat feels tight suddenly.
"you made me want to tell you everything first. good things, bad things, dumb things. half the time something happened and my first thought was literally just βi need to tell her.β" he laughs weakly to himself before looking down again. "and whenever you got quiet or pulled away even a little, i'd spend the entire day wondering if i did something wrong. did i fuck something up? was it something i said?"
"you shouldn't say things like that drunk," you whisper.
his eyes lift back to yours immediately at that. there's something devastating about how serious he looks. it's almost like he's been waiting forever to say this and hates that it's happening under circumstances where you can dismiss it tomorrow if you want to.
he shifts slightly closer without seeming to realize he's doing it, shoulders brushing yours lightly beneath the blanket. "i tried not to like you. i really did."
"james," you say again because it's the only thing your brain can manage.
"but then you started becoming part of every important thing in my life without even trying. and one day i realized that every version of my future somehow had you in it."
"you take care of me even when i make it difficult," he murmurs, eyes flicking briefly toward the untouched water bottle still in your hands. "you remember things about me. you stayed."
your chest feels painfully tight, heartbeat uneven while he watches your expression carefully, bracing himself for rejection.
you stare at him for another long second before finally loosening your grip on the water bottle. he watches your face carefully while you unscrew the cap. you try not to think too hard about the fact that your hands are shaking a little when you hand the bottle over.
"and i think," he says slowly, almost embarrassed by how honest he sounds, "a part of me started loving you because of that long before i admitted it to myself."
he glances at the water bottle again. "can i have the water now?"
"here," you murmur quietly, finally placing it into his hands.
"thank you," he says just as softly, fingers brushing yours for a second before pulling away. he takes a slow sip of water while you sit beside him trying very hard to keep your breathing normal.
you glance away first again because looking at him too long suddenly feels dangerous. beside you, he swallows carefully before lowering the bottle into his lap.
"there," you say quietly, mostly because the silence is starting to make you awake of everything. "see? that wasn't difficult."
"i think i'm too exhausted to fight you anymore," he murmurs with a faint tired smile.
"that's dramatic."
"you like dramatic."
"i tolerate it."
he lets out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. his thumb rubs absently against the side of the bottle while his gaze drifts downward again.
"can i say something selfish?" he asks after a long pause.
you glance at him carefully. "you already confessed. i think we passed selfish a while ago."
he let's out a weak laugh, staring down at the water bottle in his hands for a moment before finally speaking.
"i really, really want it to be me someday," he admits softly. "the person that gets to stay beside you."
your chest tightens immediately.
"but if it isn't . . . " he pauses briefly, jaw tightening a little before he continues. "if somebody else makes you happier than i can, then i think i'd still be okay with it."
you blink at him quietly, caught off guard by the steadiness in his voice.
"because i like seeing you happy more than i like the idea of you liking me back."
you know he's not saying it in some self-pitying way or trying to make himself sound noble. if anything, he looks almost embarrassed admitting it out loud. like he hates that loving you has become something so genuine it stopped being about what he gets in return.
"that's a really sad thing to say," you murmur after a second, trying to keep your voice light even though it comes out softer than intended.
"it's true, though," his shoulders lift slightly in a helpless shrug.
"you shouldn't just accept that."
"i'm not accepting it." his eyes linger on your face before drifting away again. "i'm saying i wouldn't want you to stay with me out of guilt if your heart was somewhere else."
it's clear that he wants you to understand exactly what he means without making this harder for you than it already is.
"i think . . . " he exhales quietly. "i think loving someone should feel kind, even when it hurts."
you stare at him silently.
"my feelings for you were never supposed to become your responsibility. i never wanted you to feel trapped because i couldn't shut up about them."
"you're not trapping me."
"but i don't want you sitting here panicking because you think you owe me an answer tonight either."
that shuts you up immediately because unfortunately he's right. your thoughts have been spinning ever since he confessed, emotions crashing into each other too fast for you to sort through properly.
and even now, james is more worried about making sure you're comfortable than protecting himself from getting hurt.
"you know what my favorite thing is?" he asks suddenly.
"what?"
"when you laugh so hard you hide your face."
you groan quietly. "i don't do that."
"you do," he says with a tiny smile. "every time."
"and when you're excited about something, you start talking really fast."
you shake your head immediately, but he just looks amused in that sleepy, affectionate way that makes it impossible to argue with him properly.
you glance down at your hands.
"and you pretend you're cold whenever you want someone to stay close to you longer."
"that's not true."
"it is. i notice everything about you."
he says it so simply too, without expecting anything for it. maybe to james, paying attention to you was the easiest thing he'd ever done.
"i don't know," he murmurs. "i justβ i think you deserve someone who looks at you and feels lucky every single day. if one day that's somebody else . . . then i'll still be glad they found you first before the world got mean enough to change you."
you look at him helplessly while he smiles softly to himself, already accepting something you haven't caught up to yet. there's no bitterness in his voice when he talks about losing you to somebody else someday.
"because you're good," he finishes quietly. "you don't even realize how good you are."
you can tell he's getting sleepier by the second, the water bottle loose in his hands. his words are slower, softer, shoulders sinking deeper into the couch cushions
you should probably make him sleep properly soon. instead, you stay exactly where you are.
he's debating whether to say one more thing before finally letting himself rest. then his mouth curves into something faint and sad all at once. "do you remember that charity gala thing martin tried setting us up for?"
your brows pull together immediately. of course you remember.
it had happened many months ago during one of your friend group dinners when everyone decided it would apparently be funny to pair the two of you together for the annual winter charity gala. couples tickets were cheaper, your friends had argued. besides, you and james were already attached at the hip anyway. the entire table had erupted into teasing almost instantly.
"oh my god, no," you'd said back then between embarrassed laughter while everyone kept talking over each other. "james would actually hate that."
you remember how easy it was to brush off at the time. how harmless it felt. just another joke. another thing to laugh away before anyone looked too closely at why your face had gone warm so suddenly.
beside you now, james smiles weakly, remembering the exact same thing. "you laughed so fast. was the idea of us together that ridiculous?"
"it wasn't like that," you say before you can stop yourself.
he shakes his head gently, still smiling. "no, i know. you didn't mean anything bad by it."
you swallow hard.
"but i remember everybody looking at me after you said no." his fingers tighten slightly around the bottle. "so i laughed too."
you remember him leaning back in his chair that night, grinning easily while waving your friends off like the idea amused him too. he'd joked about how unbearable you'd be as a date. everyone laughed and the conversation moved on quickly after that.
but sitting here now, hearing him talk about it like this, you suddenly wonder how much effort it took for him to sound casual back then.
"if the decision was only up to me," his eyes are unfocused, drifting through the memory more than speaking to you directly, "i would've said yes."
james lets his head fall back against the couch again with a tired exhale, exhaustion finally winning against the alcohol and emotions keeping him awake this long. still, he keeps talking anyway.
"i wanted to say yes so badly. it was embarrassing. i remember thinking . . . " he pauses, blinking slowly. "i remember thinking that if you'd looked at me for even one second like you wanted me there, i would've agreed immediately."
your fingers curl tightly in your lap.
"but you laughed first."
the worst part is that you remember why you laughed. not because the idea sounded impossible or because you didn't want it.
you don't know what to say to that.
"you should've told me," but the words feel painfully insufficient the second they leave your mouth.
"i couldn't. you looked so sure."
you'd laughed because everybody was staring, because your heart had jumped into your throat too quickly, because the idea of people noticing how much james already mattered to you had terrified you more than the joke itself.
but he didn't know that. all he saw was you rejecting the possibility before he even got the chance to want it openly.
"and i . . . i think i liked you too much already to hear you reject me twice in one night."
you look down quickly because suddenly your eyes burn. james shifts slightly closer without thinking, his shoulder pressing more fully against yours.
"if it was up to me," he says again, sleep beginning to pull at every word, "i would've said yes."
he blinks heavily, fighting to keep his eyes open while his fingers slowly loosen around the water bottle. the confession seems to have drained the rest of his energy.
"i would've gone with you. would've worn whatever stupid suit they wanted." his head tilts slightly until it rests against your shoulder without him realizing.
"if it was up to me," barely awake, he keeps mumbling the same thing over and over. "i would've said yes."
"i would've stayed beside you the whole night. would've said yes immediately if it was my choice." the words start slurring together near the end, exhaustion finally overtaking him.
you stay frozen beside him while his breathing gradually slows, warm against your shoulder.
maybe if he says it enough, someday you'll finally say yes. maybe if he says it enough, he'll finally get the happiest night of his life instead of just dreaming about it.
"always yes with you."
he says one last time before sleep takes him completely, handing the dream over to another universe because this one never gave it to him.
Just thinking about the end of η‘ιι / Infernal Affairs (2002) again!! Just thinking about how you spend the movie entranced by Tony Leung's incredibly soulful eyes and then it all ENDS in such a way
Four gunshots! The pause between the third and the last!!! Andy Lau in the most devastating possible ending to this plot. The Departed (2006) could never.
canβt wait for the day I can lie and say βIβm fineβ and someone knows Iβm lying and instead of yelling at me or leaving me alone they just sit with me till I feel better
ich balla-la-la-la-la-la-ler lΓΆcher in die nacht sterne fa-la-la-la-lalln und knallen auf mein dach es tut noch bisschen weh wenn ich dich wieder seh aber ich komm nie wieder egal was du mir sagst ich balla-la-la-la-la-la-ler lΓΆcher in die nacht
