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“Mr. Lee?”
Mark’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, standing to his feet with a stumble. The man before him is dressed in a long white coat, his face expressionless and calm. Mark wonders how he manages to keep his composure in a place like this. Perhaps it’s because he isn’t feeling the aching burns in the crooks of his knees and the weight of a thousand stones on his shoulders like Mark is. He definitely isn’t feeling that.
Mark follows behind the man closely with his hands intertwined. There’s almost a comfort in allowing his nails to dig into his skin, a welcome distraction to the world around him. There’s a small buzzing from the lights overhead that acts as white noise to his footsteps and the small sounds from the other rooms in the hallway. Mark is alone with the man as they wander down the seemingly endless path but it doesn’t feel peaceful. It’s agonizing and he’s starting to think he should’ve let his mom come with him like she suggested.
After a few right turns in the narrow halls, Mark finds himself standing at a glass window and sealed door. Behind the glass is a large table with a white sheet draped over it, dips and curves present beneath it. The table is sat in the center of a simple white room, similar to those in a hospital. The man goes into the room without Mark first, stepping in and putting on a set of surgical gloves and a mask. Mark wonders briefly what it smells like inside, how difficult it must be to erase the scent from your mind after hours and hours have passed. But he’s quickly snapped out of his thoughts at the calling of his name again.
“Mr. Lee, I just want to quickly go over what you’ll be looking at so as to not shock you any further. And then you can decide if you’d like to come in the room or view through the window where you are now. Alright?” The man speaks through an intercom system, his voice coming through a bit muffled and distorted but his words are clear.
It takes him a moment but Mark finds the strength to nod his head slowly. He tries his best to look at the floor of the room rather than the table. His stomach turns and he’s starting to regret coming here at all.
“Okay Mr. Lee, there’s been some bruising around the eyes and mouth, as well as gashes across the chest. We will only be looking from the neck up unless requested otherwise. Does that sound okay?” The intercom buzzes for a moment once he’s finished speaking. Mark nods again.
“Alright then. Would you like to come inside the room, Mr. Lee?”
Mark hesitates at the question, his feet stuck to the ground like cement. There’s a swirling feeling in the back of his mind that makes him feel sick at the idea of going in. Not a single muscle makes an attempt to move or respond but he repeats to himself that if he doesn’t do this, who will?
“I…I’ll come inside.” Mark speaks for the first time since he woke up this morning and his voice comes out hoarse. It’s almost painful.
The man nods and makes his way back to the door, opening it just wide enough for Mark to slide past. Now that he’s inside, Mark can see that there are faded chairs near the door and an array of medical tools lining the back wall. There’s a dingy light overhead, flickering from time to time. Mark scrunches his nose at the smell of chemicals, it’s light but fairly noticeable. Enough to make this experience all the more uncomfortable.
“Okay Mr. Lee, just as we discussed, we will be looking at him from the neck up. Please let me know when you are ready or if you would like to step out at any point.”
Mark again finds the courage to nod but not the strength to speak. He’s exhausted already and it hasn’t even started. He takes a deep breath through his mouth and shuts his eyes for a moment. He pictures a sunrise, warm and spreading over him, to bring him back to a calm place. He knows he won’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t.
“I’m ready.” Mark’s voice comes out as more of a whisper, against his will.
The man nods and pulls the sheet back slowly. His hands are gentle as he releases it, laying it perfectly across the collarbones of the man before them.
It’s him. Mark knows immediately.
His face is still somehow so recognizable, even like this. The curve of his lips, the sharpness in his brow and cheekbones, so specific to him. He looks just like his mother, that’s what people always said anyway. Mark thought he always looked like a perfect mix of both parents, which was a wonderful blessing for their first and only child.
His hair is a deep brown, just like how it was when Mark saw him last. They dyed it in the bathroom of their shared apartment like they were teenagers and it came out shockingly well. Of course, they went to a proper salon at the request of Taeyong a few weeks later but it was still beautiful. Now it was splayed out perfectly across his elevated head.
“Does it look good? You don’t think it came out too red, right?” He had asked Mark.
“Nah man, it looks good. Really good.” Mark was breathless and bad with words, but in his defense, the view was enough to make anyone speechless.
Mark remembers the smile that played across the boy’s lips when he heard Mark’s response.
“You’re such a loser, thanks.” He said with a laugh.
Mark looks over the face again and sees that there are some stitches across the back of his jaw. It trails all the way to the base of his ear, a place that Mark remembers pressing kisses to in the early hours of the morning. The days they used to spend looking into each other’s eyes and silently enjoying each other’s presence.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He used to tell Mark as they lay together in bed. The sun was still coming up and they were both half-asleep. But it was perfect, he was perfect.
“Stop, dude.” Mark hid his face in the pillow but that didn’t stop the crimson blush that was already forming across his face.
“Why? It’s true. Take pride in it, Mark Lee. And stop calling me dude, that’s like not sexy at all.”
“Oh my God.” Mark laughed into the pillow again and peeked out to look back at the pretty brown eyes that were watching him. They exchanged smiles before he leaned in to kiss Mark.
Those same eyes are now sealed shut and the gentle lips that used to kiss him are slightly parted and chapped. There’s barely any color to him now and Mark can hardly even associate him with the boy he used to spend endless hours thinking about. Now Mark thinks that he’ll spend the rest of his life thinking of him.
But despite all of this, Mark doesn’t want to say it’s him. There’s a feeling in his chest that constricts, making him tense up. It takes everything in him not to gag or look away. He doesn’t want it to be the same boy he’s spent his entire life loving. He’d rather deny reality for just a few more minutes than come to terms with the face he’s staring at. Mark grunts and opens his mouth a few times before speaking again.
“He has tattoos on his arms, can I see them please?” Mark drags his eyes back up to meet the coroner. Mark can finally say it in his head that this man isn’t some stranger, he’s a coroner who is showing him a body.
“I will warn you that the right side of the body is a bit…mutilated. So I would suggest looking at the left side if that’s alright?” His voice is muffled behind the mask.
“That’s fine.” Mark chokes out, trying not to think of what lies underneath the rest of the sheet.
The coroner pulls back the white sheet gently, just as before, revealing his left arm. It’s surprisingly the same; a few scars and stitches but still the same otherwise. Mark gulps deeply and takes a step closer to the table. His hand shakes as he raises it and he places it slowly onto the wrist of the body before him.
He’s freezing.
It’s like holding an ice cube, melting over your hands and numbing the tips of your fingers. Mark takes in a sharp breath in an attempt to fight the urge to scream out in agony. He moves his hand away quickly for a moment, clasping them together and feeling a strange wetness between his fingers. He shuts his eyes and whispers to himself for a moment.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
Mark opens his eyes again and touches the stone-cold wrist, turning it over gently. The coroner also places a gentle hand over the arm to help guide Mark’s movements. And there it is, all the confirmation Mark never wanted.
The sunflower.
It’s small and barely visible but Mark would recognize it anywhere. A sunflower, perfectly placed on his left forearm. It was undeniable and unforgettable. Mark remembers sitting there in the tattoo parlor with him, watching the colorful flower being permanently marked onto his skin.
“Your mom is gonna kill you.” Was Mark’s first thought.
“She’ll get over it. Besides, it’s so tiny and this is only the first one!” He smiled wide, trying to hide the small pain he must’ve been feeling.
“You’re insane if you think you’re getting more without her disowning you.” Mark scoffed but still smiled back.
“Whatever Mark, does it look good or not?” He laughed at Mark but they both knew deep down he desperately loved getting Mark’s approval and praise.
“Yeah it's…It’s pretty, really pretty.” Mark said gently, his eyes now like saucers.
“Yeah, baby? You want one?”
“Fuck no.” They both laughed in unison at the idea.
Mark remembers all of the tattoos that he got in the years to follow, the leaves spreading across his shoulder and onto his chest along with a small bird that floated between them. But none of them hurt like this one, the first one. A small sunflower that faced him; it was meant to serve as a reminder to stay positive and go towards the light. Mark remembers all the moments that he traced his fingers over it, his mind too clouded with love and admiration to think straight. This will probably be the last time he ever does it.
“It’s um…this is him.” Mark speaks up, not daring to tear his eyes away from the sunflower.
“Alright then, you’re absolutely sure?” The coroner looks at Mark as he pulls a pen out of his pocket.
“Yes, that’s um…that’s his tattoo. I’d recognize it anywhere.” Mark swallows thickly, blinking slowly.
“Okay, thank you. Can you confirm a name and date of birth as well please?” He asks.
“Um, John Suh and it’s February 9th, 1995.” Mark feels himself slipping out of reality.
Johnny.
The name he wants to say is Johnny. It’s the name he used to say every morning when he woke up and every night right before he drifted off to sleep. Now it’s a name that makes him feel sick, like poison on his tongue. He wants to scream it out but he also never wants to hear it again. Mark thinks that he’ll pass out right now if he does.
“Thank you, Mr. Lee…I am terribly sorry for your loss. We’ll contact his next of kin with the information you provided yesterday on the phone…”
Silence falls between them as Mark looks over Johnny again. He’s beautiful even now in Mark’s eyes. Somehow that makes him feel nauseous and comforted all at once. Mark wonders if it’s even his place to mourn.
“If you’d like, I can give you a moment alone with the body.” The coroner’s voice slips in past the flood of sadness that was filling Mark’s brain.
“Yes please…” Mark whispers out.
“Of course, take as much time as you need. I’ll be right outside.”
A slight nod is exchanged and with that, Mark is left alone with Johnny. At the sound of the door shutting, Mark feels all the strength seeping away and he lets the storm hit. He cries with every muscle of his body but manages to make no sound. His whole body shakes and he reaches out to hold Johnny’s hand. The cold doesn’t bother him now, Mark would do anything to hold him again.
He thinks of Johnny’s parents. They’ll have to catch a flight to Korea soon since Johnny has no one else. Mark wonders if his own parents will be willing to help them since their sons were dating after all. Mark doesn’t think he can face them now, with the image of their son’s lifeless body playing on a loop in his mind. He’ll only see Johnny’s face when he’s looking at them.
At this moment, Mark feels himself fully fall apart. Johnny isn’t here anymore and nothing is like it used to be. He feels the tears falling before he even realizes how drenched his face is. He tries to wipe them away, each time more aggressively, anything to just make them stop.
Stop his tears, stop his thoughts, stop his feelings.
He brings Johnny’s hand to his lips and presses a shaky kiss to the older boy’s fingers.
“Please don’t leave me like this…Please, Johnny, I love you.” Mark mutters through his tears.
He presses Johnny’s hand to the bridge of his nose and tries to find comfort in the cold skin against his own. They’re alone in the world and Mark closes his eyes tight, hoping that when he opens them, he’ll be back home, tracing his fingers over a sunflower tattoo and kissing that small spot behind the older boy’s ear, with Johnny in his arms.
This time he won’t let him go.