While the World Ends Around Us (Make Believe With Me)

Surrounded when you close your eyes

Waking up to start a fight
You promised we'd be alright
I don't know which way we gotta turn
Surrounded when you close your eyes
You'll never get the chance to cry
Never get the chance to even cry
- I Feel It Too // The Academic

It's too quiet now.

Jens is used to bustling crowds, people pushing and shoving as they dance, flashing lights, loud music with pulsing bass, plastic cups full of alcohol and soda. He's used to being around people, feeling as people bump into him, as drinks are spilt, trying to listen to what people say or shout over the music, only half understanding what they say, laughing and nodding and hoping it wasn't a question. He's used to taking breaks in the bathroom, standing over the sink and listening to the music, loud enough to sing along with even through the shut door, feeling like the neon lights that are on the dance floor are running through his veins, feeling electrified and exhausted.

He's used to hanging out with his friends every day, seeing them every day, hearing them every day. He's used to being able to read their faces, being able to know exactly when they're joking and when they're serious, knowing exactly what he should say and what he shouldn't say. He's used to feeling their hands and shoulders against his, letting people hug him and kiss his cheeks in greetings, used to laughing and hearing other people's laughter ring in his ears.

He's used to hearing people talk, hearing people's footsteps on concrete and gravel, hearing keys and coins rattle in people's pockets, hearing long nails tapping phone screens and tables and mugs in coffee shops, hearing music coming from other people's headphones and seeing them mouth the words to themselves, in their own little world. He's used to hearing dogs barking and birds singing and cars and trucks and bicycles and skateboards rolling across pavement loudly.

But now it's quiet.

When he sits on the edge of his bed, unsure of how to cure his boredom, he hears almost nothing. He can hear himself breathe, can hear his own heartbeat. He can hear the leaking faucet in the kitchen, can hear Lotte roll over in bed, can hear a door from the flat under them shut. He can hear his throat move as he tries to swallow the silence, tries to absorb it, let it happen, but it surrounds him like a towel soaked in chloroform, like the dark itself is silence.

And it's too much.

So he copes with headphones.

His music is always too loud, some music that's harsh, waves crashing into rocky shores, some music that's slow and chill, that he listens to as he smokes, sitting on his windowsill, the window open so the smoke drifts out in the wind as he watches it. Some music that's just noise, just something to listen to even if he can't understand the words, even if he can't even hum along. Some music that he listened to when he was younger, music that reminds of when he was naive and when the biggest worry in his life was whether he'd be invited to a birthday party, whether he'd finish a science project on time. There are times where he just sits, on his windowsill, on his bed, his desk chair, on the floor, and he just listens.

He supposes one of the reasons he needs noise loud is because when it's quiet he hears everything, from the faucet to the family downstairs to the plastic bag in his bin shifting under the weight of a dead pen. Everything is so loud. So it's easier to just drown it all out.

He'd like to sleep through it all, to sleep until he could see his friends and go out and be around people safely. He'd like to go to sleep and wake up to a regular, normal, ordinary world, where he doesn't have to cover his face when he gets groceries, where Lotte can go to her friend's house without Jens having to explain why she can't, why she can't even go a few blocks to see their dad. Why he hasn't left the house at all, except to get a few bags of groceries, why their mom stays out so late, every night.