He's been living his life in a loop consisting of studying, going to classes, more studying , and eating. He doesn't have a choice, apparently college is a place where you realize you're dumb despite earning a number of gold medals in your early academic years.
As he sipped the bitter beverage, his mind wandered for an answer to his question. His memory presented one, a time when he felt something-probably more. His eyes automatically glanced at the tin cokkie container he placed beside his drawing table. He somehow held a bittersweet smile on his face.
It was a year ago, on his last year of highschool,when he received a letter from her. She was a very weird person, and was proud people called her one. Like him, she had an aptitude in the academics and arts. She once mentioned she wanted to try becoming a voice actor, and as a joke, he tried imitating one of those villainous voices he could muster.
The letter she gave had three things along with it- a trap food ( junk food, a joke she had pinned up when it came to him), a sorry food ( cream puff, because she knew he liked them so much), and a pair of neckties. He never had a chance to wear them after one event.
"Please read this while on the bus on your way to your new school! Also, please listen to these songs in order as you glance on the window!"
He loves the songs she gave him. Though, not understanding that much japanese it all didn't make that much sense to him. Charlie gave out a sigh after re-reading the letter.
He knew all along that she held feelings for him for a long time. And somehow, he remembered her asking for a hug that day. He simply gave in, knowing it might be sometime in the future that they will be reunited.
But that hug meant something. That day, a year ago, he knew. He felt her trembling form, her tears seeping into his shirt, and her wavering voice thanking him for the years of friendship. Despite not giving her any reply, she was as energetic as ever.
Apart of him wished he could come go back in time and relive that one moment. He returned the letter to its container and somehow, the coffee he made is now cold. Maybe, if he take on the similar steps as her, he'd be able to feel a lot of things. Free from judgment, shame, or expectation.
Probably. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, and he felt the early November breeze. The moon was high and the city before him alive as ever. He smiles.
"Do dead people even feel these?" he asks, and resumes his studying.