Work Text:
7 Days
Jinyoung.
His name in the form of a whisper that punctuated my sleep-induced breaths, his eyes liquid pools of warmth that made my stomach clench involuntarily each time I looked at him, and his tuneful voice that send shivers down my spine whenever I heard my name on his irresistible lips.
I woke up first today, instead of him. Normally, Jinyoung would have woken up before me. He was the lighter sleeper, between the two of us, and I had lost count of how many days he had spent trying to drag me out of bed so we could have breakfast together, then giving up and throwing a tantrum. It pained me because the realisation that his body was gradually wearying, and the soreness doubled as I tried to detach his arms around my torso, to pull back and tuck him under the warm comforters. The room was too cold for a patient, and even though some of his body heat had set my skin alight with sparks, a few minutes of standing under the blasting air vents had me tugging my jacket tighter against myself.
“Mark…”
Immediately, my neck turned and I winced, slowly raising a hand to rub the crook in between my neck and shoulder as I glanced at the boy lying on the small bed, his frame looking even smaller than I remembered. His skin was paler than it used to be, and there were bags under his eyes even though he had been refraining from any physical exercise or strenuous activities in the past few months. They accentuated many things – his delicate albeit strong bone structure, his bright and optimistic eyes and his contrasting ebony hair. Yet, they also pointed to how much stronger he used to be, and how weak he had gotten.
I swallowed, and slowly lowered myself until I was squatting in an uncomfortable position next to his bed, my hands clinging onto the frame of the bed as I watched him intently. Jinyoung talked in his sleep, but because I was usually dead to the world once I fell to my slumber, I missed out on a lot of his incoherent ramblings.
“Mark… I’m sorry…” He mumbled almost inaudibly, his eyebrows creased in the middle as he frowned. He reached his arms out to pull at something, but when they were met with cold air and blankets, he let out a sigh and disgruntledly used them as a substitute instead. Even after he was hugging at the sheets tightly, the deep line in between his eyes stayed, and witnessing his distressed expression and not doing anything about it send waves of guilt washing through me.
“I love you…” He said, before the frown finally dissipated and a more peaceful look found its way to his face. I waited, feeling the small ache build up in my legs as I heard his breaths become more and more even, before finally standing up. I winced at the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles, but forced myself to walk as quietly as I could in sneakers towards the door. When my hand touched the metal doorknob, I glanced over my shoulder one last time before whispering goodbye.
I walked out of the ward, then out of the dreadful floor where they sent patients and told them “It’s alright” with an awful, apologetic smile on their faces even though every single person knew that if you had to switch rooms to one on that floor, you pretty much had your days numbered. I hated it. I hated that day so much, where I had been sitting on Jinyoung’s bed, holding his hand and pretending to read his palm while I spouted nonsense as I just admired the lines that appeared at the side of his eyes when he threw his head back and laughed. I remembered thinking about how light-hearted we both were, since Jinyoung’s condition had been improving and things had been looking good – even good enough for him to get discharged. Then, I remembered how quickly the mood plummeted, and how heavy the crushing silence was when the doctor strode in and blurted out the horrible news. I remembered staring at Jinyoung, even though I knew he should have just given the boy his space and privacy to come to terms with his own situation, and I remembered how helpless I felt when tears began to fall from Jinyoung’s eyes and onto our intertwined hands. I remembered every damned detail, and how much I hated doctors and hospitals and expensive medicine that seemed to be good for nothing since they failed to do anything about Jinyoung’s illness. Weren’t they supposed to save lives? Why could they not help at all? I hated standing by, watching idly as Jinyoung began to count down the number of days he had left to live. It was too cruel.
I felt myself being brought back to reality when a hand obtrusively waved in front of my face.
Oh. It was the woman who was running the food stall. She had an annoyed look on her face, and I quickly snatched the receipt out of her hand, passing her a few thousand won to pay for the overpriced hospital food, muttering for her to keep the change. I carried the tray to an empty table near the sinks, in a corner that seemed hidden away from the bright lights and incessant chattering of people.
After setting my food down on the table, I stretched both my arms and limbs, trying to touch my toes. The muscles in my stiff body protested, but I persistently continued to push my limbs, until my fingers grazed the worn canvas of my sneakers. There was a satisfied but mildly sore sensation in my straightened back, and I finally sat in the seat. It was almost I was repelled by the food, even though I had no recollection of even walking up to the food stalls, or buying anything from the ddeokbokki shop. I stared ardently at the plate of spicy rice cakes, wishing I could burn the entire plate of fried potatoes, vegetables and flour with my eyes. I hated fried foods, and I liked drinking soup. Even Jinyoung had begun drinking soup more often because of me. He often joked, saying that I was prepping us to become an old couple, spending out days watching sitcoms that had been replayed tens of times before and drinking hot, lotus soup and even hotter summer days.
What a liar.
I swallowed hard, although my throat was dry and scratchy. It wasn’t as though Jinyoung had lied to me with ill intentions; sometimes my mind spoke before it could process the thoughts, and filter out the not-so-nice ones. The betrayal stung – from both Jinyoung’s body and my inability to be understanding about his situation.
Pushing the plate away from me, I placed the cutlery beside the plate and looked at the empty space opposite me, pretending for a few moments that Jinyoung was there, with a mocking smirk on his lips at how I would refuse to eat what I had bought and let the food go to waste.
“It’s your fault for preoccupying all of my thoughts. You eat it.” I demanded softly, dropping my gaze and not daring to see that the space opposite me was rightfully and truly empty.
Instead, I let the smell of oil and chilli paste waft into my nostrils, and let the unstimulating aroma probe at my stomach, which was equally as disgusted as I was. I took my phone out of my pocket, and switched it on, and waited it to start up. My expression softened when I traced my finger over the wallpaper, washed over with nostalgia. Reluctantly, I entered my password and a small pop-up appeared on the screen, notifying me of my fading battery life.
14% left. Please charge your phone.
I ignored the little reminder, and tapped on my notifications to check on the missed calls and messages.
1 Missed Call (Youngjae)
13 Missed Calls (Jaebum)
6 Missed Calls (Jackson)
4 Messages (Yugyeom)
3 Messages (Jaebum)
2 Messages (Bambam)
2 Messages (Youngjae)
I rolled my eyes, and quickly shut my phone off before any of them could send any more text messages or call. Jaebum seemed to be the most panicky one, and I couldn’t blame it on him. He had a personality of a wolf: strong, fierce and possessed extremely individualistic characteristics. He wanted to be a lone wolf, but every wolf needed a pack to survive. A member of his pack was dying, and he felt guiltier than any of us as the days passed and the situation depreciated. He was overly protective and too worried, and while excessively spamming my phone with missed calls was his method of approach, he failed to understand that I needed my own space as well.
“Oh fuck!” I whisper-shouted, startled out of my wits when I felt two cold hands around my neck. I pried them off, staring daggers at whoever had crept up behind me, with a fork grasped tightly in my hand, just in case.
“Jesus, you’re becoming such a nutcase.” Jackson made a face at me, and disgruntledly sat in the seat where I had pictured Jinyoung being in.
“You’re the fucking lunatic. You can’t go strangling people in a hospital, you beef head!”
“Put the fork down, Mark. You can’t possibly think of using a utensil as a weapon for self-defence.”
I glowered at the disdain in his voice, and placed the metal fork back on the table. Stupid Hong Kong brat with his lack of manners for his elders.
“Stop cursing me out in your head. I can see you almost saying the words aloud, for goodness sake.” He mouthed off once again, looking uninterested and starting to pick at the rice cakes, which had begun to cool down after being untouched and uneaten.
I sighed. Being with Jackson was frustrating, and it usually tired me, but as of lately, I found myself craving more of the rude, loud boy. It seemed as though every word that left his mouth was a gunshot, firing off without a moment of hesitation. It was annoying, but it was also enough to take my mind off the awful side of things.
“Have you even eaten? Showered? Or slept?” Jackson asked me, in a tone almost as accusatory as Jaebum’s.
I raised my eyebrows, wanting to shoot the same question back at him. Apart from the fact that he was wearing an ironed button-up shirt, he looked equally haggard as I did. Neither of us had bothered shaving in the past few days, only abiding to the task when we remembered it. Showers were not as important anymore, and I barely spent more than three minutes, running the water down my body before drying it off with a towel.
There was never enough time, and I could take all the showers I wanted when I had the indulgence later.
“I slept. We fell asleep somewhere around 3AM.” I surprised myself, because my voice sounded stronger than I thought it would.
Jackson looked impressed, and for a moment I wanted to wipe that stupid, nonchalant look off his face. His lips had tugged up although the expression in his eyes were blank and unconcerned, and I felt unexplainably irritated by it all. He seemed to have noticed the drastic changes in my mood, specifically when I was in his company, so he pulled a duffel bag onto the table and discarded the tray of uneaten food to the table next to us.
My protest died at my lips, when he shot me a deadpan expression, as if daring me to argue that I would eat the disgusting, oil-laden food. I pursed my lips in a straight line, and folded my arms in reluctant submission.
“Jaebum said that you’ve missed all of his calls, which was a wonderful thing to do, by the way. If he wouldn’t stop calling, he wouldn’t stop talking. Just because you weren’t on the other end to hear his nagging monologues, doesn’t mean that we weren’t there to listen to him record it multiple times, and seriously, that boy can talk.” Jackson whistled lowly, before unzipping the bag to reveal its contents.
They were daily necessities, and my utilities from the dorm which I had not seen in a long time, because of my extended stay at the hospital. The first few times, the nurses would kick me out after visiting hours, but because of my stubbornness and Jinyoung’s pleads, they agreed to close one eye and let me stay past visiting hours. I ran my fingers across the smooth clothes, feeling the soft creases at my rough fingertips. In the corner, I spotted shampoo, shaving cream, bathing gel and my razor.
I coughed to get Jackson’s attention, and he turned to me as if he had been expecting me to say something. “I know pink is Bambam’s favourite colour, but did you happen to bring someone else’s shirt or are you seriously expecting me to wear this magenta piece of hell?”
Jackson shrugged, but I saw through his act and the stupid, masochistic grin that threatened to spill from the corners of his mouth. “Accidents happen when it’s Youngjae’s turn to do the laundry. By the way, in case you’re wondering, this is your shirt. He just happened to wash it with Bambam’s pink tracksuit.”
“You’re all douches.” I sighed in defeat, zipping the duffel bag out. I should have figured out that Jackson was not so empathetic as to meticulously pack an overnight bag for me, so that I could wash up without leaving the hospital. In fact, this was probably a ploy to get me to return to the dorm, so that I would run into the other members.
“Says the top douche.” Jackson hummed in a sing-song manner, standing up and slinging the bag over his shoulder. He gestured with his hand at me to stand up and follow him, and I resignedly accepted the turn of events and trudged after him, the plate of ddeokbokki forgotten behind us.
“Aw, don’t look so sad, Markie.” Jackson grinned at me over his shoulder, as we walked past the glass double doors of the hospital that led us out of the wretched place. “Jaebum’s cooking soup, and it’s your favourite kind.”
Turns out, Jackson, being the wonderful asshole that he was, lied. Jaebum had just returned to the dorm as well, and was positively clueless when I asked him about the soup he was supposedly cooking. Before I could murder Jackson, I found out that the younger boy had already slipped out of my grasp and out of the house. Youngjae jokingly told me that it was Jackson’s way of caring – bringing me back home so the rest of them could somewhat “heal my sad soul”, in his very own words.
If you have never seen a starving man trudge through the desert for years and finally make it into a restaurant with a plate of one finely-sliced, pristine and delectable chocolate cake, perhaps watching Jaebum pounce on me would be a good reference.
“Mark!” He choked out when he laid eyes on me, his voice thick and raspy, and his iron grip tightening on my shoulders.
I sighed, and outstretched my arms, patting Jaebum on the back firmly as he muttered small nothings into my shoulder. The thing about Jaebum, was that he shut out his emotions too often, so he had no idea how to deal with them when things went awry. The tsunami of emotions would shake him like a doll, and he had no idea how to understand or even act on them.
And people said I was too quiet for my own good. Sometimes, being quiet just meant that I dealt with my thoughts more personally, and shared less with others. I had Jinyoung to turn to in my worst moments, and even then he had to pry for details because it was not in my nature to just spill whatever was on my mind. On the other hand, our leader embraced solitude, and he saw it as a strength rather than a weakness. He was independent, for sure, and the one who stood the most firmly in his values amongst all of us, but perhaps locking the doors so tight and raising the walls so high that no one could touch him even if he wanted them to, was Jaebum’s greatest mistake.
“I’m sorry.” Jaebum said, his words getting jumbled with hot tears that began to coat the fabric of my shirt.
There wasn’t much I could do, except stand there when I felt that my legs were going to give way any moment, and pat Jaebum’s strong shoulder blades, feeling his frame shake with every sob. Seconds and minutes passed, and he finally took a step back, his face stained with red splotches of skin and wet tracks of tears. As discreetly as I could, I extended my hand behind my back, feeling for the surface of the kitchen counter. The moment my fingers met marble, I clutched onto the countertop and leaned my body against it, before I passed out on the spot.
“It’s not your fault, Jae. I told you so many times.” I reminded him gently, seeing the young boy he actually was in his moment of vulnerability. “Look at me.”
He lifted his head up slowly, before making eye contact with me. “Don’t blame this on yourself. This is none of our faults.”
I watched as Jaebum nodded, gruffly rubbing his eyes with the long sleeves of his shirt. ”I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” I said, before patting him light on the shoulder and walking out of the kitchen. Without speaking a word to the other members, who were not so inconspicuously lying on the sofa in the living room and staring in our direction, I headed straight for the shower.
The hot water burned my skin, and I handled the washcloth inattentively, a million thoughts running through my mind as I rubbed at my raw skin. Even above the splashing of water onto the floor, I could hear hushed whispers from the younger members, debating over how to approach me. I pulled at my hair, rubbing the shampoo with greater force than necessary, but it did nothing to alleviate the sinking feeling in my chest.
It felt so heavy, as though I had been chained to the floor by my ankles, and I could barely move. The fact that I was crying again had escaped my knowledge, and I only repeatedly thumped my fist against my heart, trying to stop the choking sensation that prevented me from breathing.
The longer I stayed in the shower, the quicker the hot water began to run out, and soon only cold water was left. I turned the tap off, and reached out for my towel. I had taken much longer than I was expecting, and usually Jaebum would not allow for any of the members to shower for more than fifteen minutes. In fact, ten minutes was already a luxury, considering how we had seven members living in a dorm with only one shower.
“Hyung…”
I sighed, and pulled the first shirt I grabbed out of my closer over my head.
“What’s up, Youngjae?”
The younger boy looked at me, his mouth opening but closing every few seconds, as if he could not get the words out of his mouth.
“How’s Jinyoung hyung?” He finally managed, his fingers on his left hand fiddling with my doorknob, while the other hand was absentmindedly playing with the hem of his shirt.
My gaze softened, and I felt my shoulders slump slightly as the affirmation that Youngjae was – no matter how much he denied it – just a child. He may have had his high school diploma proudly hung up in a wooden frame on his bedroom wall, but he still possessed the naivety of a kid, and it was too endearing for lies.
“Do you want the truth, or the sugar-coated version?” I asked him, not wanting to rob him of his choice. Either answer he picked, it would have been unbearable to break the news to him, so I might as well let him believe whichever response he preferred.
Youngjae pondered seriously for a while, shutting his eyes tightly as his hands stopped their distracting movements. The silence stretched between us, and when I saw the defeat in him, I knew which answer he had chosen even without the words being exchanged between us.
“See him soon, Youngjae.”
I left him in my room, shutting the door quietly behind myself. It pricked my conscience, but every passing moment that I was away from Jinyoung, was every moment I could not afford to lose.
Jackson shot me a dirty look from the sofa, completely aware of the situation that had just occurred. Wordlessly, he stood up and waved his car keys in my direction and walked towards the door. I followed behind him, a tad too ashamed to lift my head. When we had finally settled back into his car, he turned on the radio, lowering the volume such that we could easily speak over the muted silence, although I just stared at my lap, while Jackson concentrated solely on driving.
“Thanks, Jackson.” I said in English, although I was surprised by my switch in language. Maybe it was because of the ballad that was currently playing from the radio, or maybe not.
“You need to prepare yourself, Mark.” He replied me, also In English.
After that one sentence, no more words were spoken between us, and we were each left in our separate trains of thoughts. At one point, I found the music to be too jarring, so I reached out to switch it off, turning the small knob quickly. Jackson said nothing, but I felt his strong gaze on me, even though I had pressed my face against the window, no longer able to stop my eyes from glazing over when we had started driving down the familiar streets to the hospital.
Slowly, I felt his intense gaze ease off me, and gratefully took the packet of tissues he held out silently with my right hand.
6 Days
“How’s home? Tell me what I’m missing out on. I’m pretty sure Jaebum’s nagging hasn’t stopped at all, and neither has Youngjae’s butter fingers, so please make sure he doesn’t break any of the fancy ceramic bowls my mom mailed us, alright?” Jinyoung coughed quietly, swiftly continuing before I could interject on how he probably would never see the bowls again.
“Did Bambam decide to buy a new sofa or something?” Jinyoung asked, his laughter resembling the wind chime we had hung up on his window when we first moved into the dorm – light, melodious and at the same time, almost too soft to be heard.
“It’s not home without you, Jinyoung.” I replied him in the most direct way I could without lying or talking about anything else, staring out of the window as I tied the drapes up. The beams of warm light were falling into the room and casting away dusty silhouettes, significantly brightening the mood of the otherwise too white, too dull and too sterilised, atmosphere in the ward. The Han River was in the distance, and I could see families and lovers walking in the park from afar, enjoying their picnics and outings. Dogs were chasing the birds, and birds were flocking towards the skies. The clouds hung low, but they were still pure white, without a single smudge of grey or rain.
I fucking hated it.
We used to go for our own escapades, and sit by the river on late nights, tossing pebbles to see who could throw it the furthest. I had never lost to Jinyoung, and my pebble would always spin clockwise as it left my fingers, and bounce across the surface of the water multiple times before it finally submerged, creating a canvas of ripples that reflected the gleaming moonlight, whereas Jinyoung’s would sink into the water at first contact most of the time. The only thing I could think of, as I continued looking at kids playing the same game we did months ago, was how I should have let him win. At least once.
“What are you thinking of?” Jinyoung asked, and I finally noticed how hopeful his expression was, even as he closed his eyes for a moment.
“You.” I answered, walking over to the bed and holding out my hand to feel his forehead, checking his temperature. “How’re you feeling?”
“My head kind of hurts.” He murmured, his cold hand slowly finding its way to my slightly less cold one, our fingers interlocking before he opened his eyes. “But it’s better now that you’re here.”
I sat, perched precariously on the edge of the bed, not even bothering to resist the blush that seemed to coat my cheeks every time words flowed so confidently out of Jinyoung’s mouth. He made way for me, and I immediately crawled under the covers he held up for me, before wrapping my arms around him. He felt cold, even under his long sleeve fleece pyjamas and hospital gown bottoms, so I tightened my grip around his waist. He smelled amazing – like himself, even though I caught an indistinguishable whiff of herbal shampoo and fever relief patches that the nurses covered him in. Jinyoung leaned his head on my chest with minimal effort, and if I weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts of him dying in my arms, I would have been embarrassed at how fast my heart was pounding. Jinyoung said nothing, but just hummed contentedly as we held one another intimately and innocently, at the same time.
A few minutes passed, and even though I closed my eyes, all the sleepiness and exhaustion seemed to go away. My mind was whirring too actively for me to drift off to sleep. I hesitantly opened my eyes, careful not to make any sudden movements as I peeked at Jinyoung. He was breathing quietly, his eyes squinting even when they were closed every once in a while. There were small beads of sweat that lines his forehead, causing his black hair to be matted with perspiration. In comparison to his dark hair, his face paled even more. He looked like a porcelain doll – vulnerable and breathtakingly beautiful in the most exquisite manner.
I felt a lump in my throat, and my nostrils began to burn, just like they did before I started crying. I forced myself to swallow, and kept blinking, trying to have my breathing under control before Jinyoung opened his eyes to a bawling mess. Today was not the day. I was not going to break down in front of the love of my life when he needed me to give him strength.
Gradually, the tremor in my throat came to a slow halt and I pursed my lips together, still admiring his small frame until I saw him jump slightly at the sudden noise, although he still had not opened his eyes. The door swung open loudly, but thankfully did not slam into the wall and cause any further damage as a familiar duo walked into the room. I grumbled, pushing myself in a sitting position and glowered at them. Jinyoung stirred, and followed my actions at a slower pace. I helped him up, my arms guiding him carefully as he managed to get a good look at his new visitors. There was a dazed expression plastered over his face, as if he had been in the middle of being awake and asleep, but at neither end of the spectrum.
“Stop being a brat, Mark, we want to see him too.” Jackson snorted, throwing the bouquet of lilies at me as soon as I landed both feet on the ground.
“I hate lilies, you asshole.” I retorted, barely catching the newspaper-wrapped flowers before they landed on the bed. There was water leaking from the stems of the flowers, and I glared at the spots of water that had stained my pants.
“They’re not for you.” Jackson rolled his eyes and spoke slowly, as if he was talking to a child. “Go put them in a vase or something.”
Yugyeom stepped in before we could turn our argument into a fist fight. Jackson had always been irrational and hot-tempered, but I never found myself wanting to punch him in the face on a daily basis before Jinyoung became hospitalised. It seemed as though he was just out to annoy every single person in the world, and for some reason, my tolerance level was diminishing so rapidly that we only exchanged bitter words each time we engaged in conversation.
“Hyung, how are you feeling?” He asked, a gentle smile on his face as he fluffed the pillows and placed them upright against the headboard so Jinyoung could comfortably sit up.
“Not too bad, maknae.” Jinyoung winked, patting the empty space beside him where I was sitting just a few minutes ago. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Yugyeom gratefully took his seat, and massaged Jinyoung’s neck and shoulders while energetically chatting about all the funny moments that had occurred in the past week or so. It sounded too foreign for me, and the last thing I wanted was for Jinyoung to realise that either Yugyeom was making up all the fluffy tales to make him feel better, or that I had been completely left out on the jokes and good times with the others because I was too occupied with taking care of him. One way or the other, the outcome was unfavourable, so I mumbled a pathetic excuse and quickly slipped out of the ward after stuffing the cheap bouquet in an empty drawer.
My hands curled in my pockets because of the cold air-conditioners, and although I was certain that the entire hospital was at the same temperature, the moment I left Jinyoung’s ward, I felt frozen. The air was drier, the wind was stronger and I felt number than I had in days. I sat on one of the many black chairs that were lined up around the vending machines, where patients or visitors bought their snacks or waited for check-ups. Resting my elbows on my knees, I ran my fingers threw my hair while staring at the ground. The tiles were so ugly. They were all the same shade of murky grey, with horrible, geometric patterns that formed triangles every three rows.
A can of coke came into my view, and I looked up at the owner of the outstretched arm before taking the canned drink. It was cold as well, but the condensation seemed to help my fingers move more easily, after they stiffened in my pockets.
“I know this is probably the most clichéd and least useful question to ask in hospitals, but I’m going to ask it anyway, and you’re going to answer me truthfully. How are you feeling?”
I sighed, and plucked the aluminium tab with my index finger, the popping and fizzing filling the silence between us.
“I don’t want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, Jackson.” I told him.
“Let me rephrase my question, then.” He raised his eyebrows at me, almost condescendingly. “You’re going to give me an answer, or we’re going to end up fighting because of all the tension and we both know who has a better chance of walking out of it without a black eye or a broken leg.”
“You’re really a dick.” I hissed at him, ducking my head when a group of doctors and interns walked past where we were sitting, just a few metres away. “Don’t talk about assaulting people in the hospital.”
Jackson shrugged, unbothered by the situation, as usual. “We’re not talking about assault. We’re talking about how you feel.”
The glaring competition continued, although once again I felt as though I was the only one staring daggers at him, while Jackson had a mixture of amusement and boredom on his face. It was so annoying that my fists began to twitch, so I placed the undrunk can of coke on the seat next to me.
“I feel like shit. I feel selfish for not wanting him to die. I feel angry that he’s leaving us. I feel frustrated that he doesn’t even get a choice in how his life is ending. I feel ashamed for feeling this way when I’m not even the one whose life is at stake. I feel constantly annoyed by you and your antics, and I feel disloyal to everyone at the dorm because I want him to spend all his time with me and me only. I feel terrible.” I rambled, throwing my hands in the air and sarcastically ended off with, “Are you happy now?”
Jackson picked up my can of coke and sipped from it, only setting it down after the string of words had come to a stop.
“I’m not that thrilled, but even an asshole like me knows that hiding all my feelings and burying them so deep that it takes such a hassle for you to talk about them, is the worst thing you can do now.” He stood up, crushing the canned drink now that it was empty after his generous gulp. “Don’t hide anything from Jinyoung, Mark. He’s smarter than you think, and trust me. If you’re going to keep secrets from a dying person, chances are, you won’t be able to move on even after he’s passed on.”
“Why do you even care?” I blurted out unintentionally. “It doesn’t seem like a guy like you would care about his life. You don’t care about anything.”
Jackson’s gaze hardened and steeled over, and he stood up to leave, but said his part before leaving me sitting alone once again. “A guy like me? Yeah, maybe you’re right. I really don’t care about anything. But I wasn’t this way from the beginning, Mark. In fact, the only reason why I don’t bother to care anymore, is because there’s just too much at stake. Say what you need to with Jinyoung, before you become ‘a guy like me’ too. Maybe then you’ll understand how I feel.”
I watched him walk away, taking big strides as he approached the corner and finally disappeared from my sight. There was a tinge of guilt and unsettled curiosity at his cryptic words, but his main intent alone outweighed everything else.
I needed to be honest with Jinyoung, and it was more crucial now, than any other time.
5 Days
“Hey Mark.” Jinyoung called out, his back facing me when I looked up from the book I was reading. In all honesty, I had not been processing the words at all. The past hour or so, the paragraphs of ink had just weaved in and out of my mind, and even as my eyes scanned them, I had no idea what the book was about. I could have been reading a cooking book for all I had known, but my concentration had been focused on listening to Jinyoung’s movements without being too obvious. He wasn’t the type to easily ask for help, especially if I was constantly monitoring his every action blatantly.
“Yeah?” I walked over slowly, so he could pick up the sound of my footsteps.
“Can you… help me with this?” He finally made eye contact with me, and the shaky and child-like expression almost broke my heart on the spot. His eyes were lined with tears and shaking, and even though he had gritted his teeth in frustration, his smile was still on his lips, although his eyes were crying.
“S-sure.” I forced myself to smile back at him, pretending that all was fine when it obviously was not. I picked up the flask of water on the counter as he stepped back almost timidly, and squeezed extra tightly around the handle as I poured a glass for him because I was afraid that he would see the trembling that I failed to control.
The water spilled over the rim of the glass, but I covered it with a towel and passed the glass of water to Jinyoung, trying to maintain my expression. He took a small sip, and placed it gently back on the counter.
“Thanks. It sucks not being able to do the simplest of things anymore.” He said aloud, dramatically falling back onto the sheets, before shifting into an upright position. He was watching me curiously, his head tilted to an angle as he slowly nodded along to my silence. Not being able to tolerate it anymore, I lightly flicked his forehead.
“What are you doing, you idiot?”
“Testing you.” He rubbed his forehead, shooting me a quick glare. “You didn’t respond.”
I shrugged my shoulders and admitted honestly, “I didn’t know how to.”
“It’s okay.” He told me, and got off the bed, dusting the invisible lint off his pants lightly with both hands. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”
I scoffed, naturally catching his hand in mine and rubbing my thumb in circles on his wrist, before lacing our fingers together. “You’re weird.”
“And that’s one of the things you like about me.” He grinned, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. I was slightly taken aback, because he was pressed against my side, and his face was mere centimetres from mine. He looked so gorgeous, and even with the sunken eye bags, his eyes seemed to light up the entire room when he smiled. I pressed my lips to his cheek before I could stop myself, and gently tugged him out of his ward before he had time to respond from the chaste lip lock. From my peripheral vision, I could see him holding his other hand to his cheek, glancing in every direction except for mine as my favourite shade of pink dusted across his cheekbones, bringing a lovely flush to his pale skin.
“Come on, loverboy. Where do you want to go today?” I asked him, in a tone so light-hearted and happy that it sounded alien to even myself.
“How about some ice cream?” He asked expectantly, both his hands playing with the hem of my shirt as he thought aloud.
“Jinyoung…” I sighed, feeling like the bad guy for having to repeat what the doctor told him.
However, instead of conceding quietly like the person he wasn’t, Jinyoung placed one hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow questioningly at me. “Mark Tuan, are you going to rob me of my last chance to eat chocolate ice cream?”
“No.” I mumbled, my weak resolve crumbling to ashes as I opened the door and stuck my head out, looking in both directions to make sure no nurses or doctors were present to see Jinyoung make his grand escape from his room. When I was sure that the coast was clear, I held his hand tightly and squeezed, before saying, “Come on, you idiot. Before we get caught.”
True enough, Jinyoung hit the nail on the head.
It was the last day we went for ice cream together.
It was the last time he dropped chocolate on my scruffy shoes.
It was the last time we playfully tackled one another and argued over who should pay for the ice cream.
It was the last time we had kissed with equal fervour, and I tasted a mixture of vanilla and cocoa on his lips.
It was the last time we went out alone, eyes bright and smiles wide, hands seemingly glued together.
It was the last time we were reprimanded when we got back to the hospital.
It was the last time Jinyoung told me that he loved me, outside the confines of the hospital, away from heart monitors, IV drips and the antiseptic smell of death and medicine.
It was the last time I laughed so much that my jaw hurt.
It was the day that we both had accepted that this was going to be the final time we would and could do such simple things together.
4 Days
I sneezed violently, rubbing my nose as I shot a sultry look at Youngjae, who just raised both of his hands defensively and ducked behind Yugyeom before I could do anything.
“This smells raw, Youngjae.” Jackson cringed as well, suppressing his own urge to sneeze by exhaling sharply, causing his nostrils to flare.
“It’s apple-scented, hyung.” He protested, waving the bottle of air freshener in his hands in our direction before spraying it a few more times, causing clouds of the toxic gas to float around the room. Even Yugyeom, who had been the calmest one in the room, ripped the bottle out of his hands aggressively and tossed it into the garbage bin, earning a unanimous round of applause from Jackson, Jinyoung and myself. Youngjae just crossed his arms over his chest indignantly and pouted.
“Ah, what are you going to do without me?” Jinyoung mused to himself, running a hand through the younger boy’s brown hair. “You’re just a magnet for trouble, Youngjae.”
Youngjae didn’t have it in him to argue back with a snarky response, and instead just nodded as Jinyoung continued to talk to him soothingly. It may have looked like a funny sight to any random passer-by, but to us, it was clear as day that Jinyoung loved the rest of the younger members as if they were his own blood brothers. The kinship was evident.
“How’s school? Have you made any friends?” Jinyoung retracted his hands from Youngjae’s messy hair and signalled for the younger boy to sit on the bed.
Youngjae good-naturedly began to explain about what he was going for his major, and how it was a lot more elaborate than writing scripts for plays and acting them out. It was one of the most boring lectures I had ever listened to, qualifying in my Top Three Snooze-worthy Speeches right beside ‘An Introduction to the Chemistry of Transition Elements’ and ‘Quantum Physics’, both of which subjects which I had miserably failed before dropping out of school.
Jackson seemed to share the same bored look on his face, and Yugyeom looked like a tree standing out of place in the corner of the room, waiting for his turn to talk to Jinyoung. It was visiting hours, and I figured that since I had more time with Jinyoung as compared to the others since I was allowed to stay past the allotted time, I patted our youngest member on the back gently, giving his shoulder a squeeze before I slid out of the room.
As I had expected, Jackson followed right after me, opening the door almost immediately after I had shut it into place. We both sat in the hallway, our backs against the door of the ward. The doctors and nurses walked past us with questioning looks on their faces, but they suppressed their curiosity and decided to just let us be. It was a good thing, anyway. I had no idea what I was going to say if they wanted an answer as to what we were both doing.
Jackson broke the silence first, fiddling with his hands unnaturally as he did so. If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought that he was nervous. “How’s Jaebum doing?”
I should have felt guilty. I should have let the waves of shame hit me because I had completely left my (supposedly) best friend alone to wallow in his own self-pity. I should have felt at least one emotion stir inside me, but instead I felt emptiness consume me.
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.” Jackson replied, the movement in his hands halting as he pinched his pinky in between his forefinger and thumb. “I should find out soon.”
“I should too.” I said, more for the sake of saying it than actually meaning it. In all honesty, I probably would not talk to Jaebum for a few months. We both understood why, and as much as Jinyoung would have hated to see our friendship breaking down, he wouldn’t actually be there to witness it. We both needed time to heal on our own, before we could mend anything between the both of us. The silence stretched out between us again, and I let my ears absorb the sounds from our surroundings. Fading footsteps, the ticking of clocks, hushed conversations at the counter not too far away, and in an even further distance, a small crowd crying outside a the emergency operation room.
Jackson spoke up again, and I was a little surprised and how long and how calm our conversation was. This was probably the longest exchange between the both of us that didn’t involve swearing or empty threats. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t form a coherent sentence. He frowned deeply, forming a crease in between his eyebrows as he thought hard about how to word his sentence, before giving up and drawing his lips in a tight line.
I couldn’t explain what it is, but I felt like it was my turn to say something. So I asked him something that had been lingering at the back of my mind. “Have you… said goodbye to Jinyoung yet? You seem to be bringing the kids to see him, pushing me to say what I really feel to him and even comforting Jinyoung. Have you said what you wanted to?”
I never really knew how close Jackson and Jinyoung were, even before the latter was hospitalised. There was never a need to pay special attention to their interactions, but I assumed that they were as close as they were supposed to be – members in the same group who shared the same bitter tears from harsh weeks and celebratory shouts from an encore stage after winning on a music show.
Jackson’s eyes flitted back and forth uncomfortably, and maybe if I had been paying closer attention to him, I would have realised how much effort he put into trying to hide his guilt.
“Me? Yeah, I guess.” He paused. “I think he knows what I have to say.”
Whether he got another chance to talk to Jinyoung, I would never find out, because neither Jinyoung nor Jackson brought up the subject of each other in front of me again.
3 Days
“The wheelchair sucks. I’m glad I didn’t have to use it before. It’s such a burden.” Jinyoung complained, as Youngjae and Bambam helped to lift the bulky device over our doorstep. They waved his worries aside dismissively, although I secretly knew that Jinyoung probably just detested the fact that he had lost the ability to walk by himself. Our eyes met for an instant, but he looked away before I could mouth some words of encouragement to him. I wondered how it felt, to slowly wane until you became a mere shell of yourself, hollow and void from all the things you used to be able to do. Shaking the thoughts aside, I walked straight to the kitchen to make some tea for the rest, while Youngjae began to push him across the floor, finding more ease in the rubber wheels than his own arms. Jinyoung asked if everyone could stay in his room, because it felt too empty in the living room, and of course we all agreed.
I stood idly by myself, looking at the refrigerator blankly while waiting for the water to boil. The kettle had just been placed on the fire, and it would take a few minutes before the shrill whistle would sound from the pot.
“Mark hyung, what are you doing?” Bambam greeted me while he strolled into the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he opened the cupboards above him.
“Eh? Boiling some tea.”
“Oh. Jinyoung said that he was hungry. Do you think we have any biscuits left?” Bambam peered at the many cereal boxes we had, and shook them to check if they were empty.
“He likes the lemon ones. They’re in the corner, behind the box of candies.” I pointed out, after it seemed like the younger boy would never find it, even if it was right before his eyes. Easily grasping the half-opened box of biscuits, he scanned the label for the expiry date, before relief washed over him.
“Thank goodness we’re eating it now. The expiration date is in a few days’ time.”
I flinched, the smallest mention about expiration shooting a small bout of panic to shoot through my veins. It was ridiculous and impossible to conceive, how a packet of biscuits may outlive Jinyoung. In a few days’ time, we probably would never buy those biscuits again, because Jinyoung was the only one who liked them.
Oblivious to my change in mood, Bambam left the kitchen after a word of thanks, and I leaned against the refrigerator for support. I relished in the cold sensation of the refrigerator door against my back, and pinched the bridge of my nose. The water was done boiling after a few minutes, and as carefully as I could, I poured it into a few cups, letting the instant tea bags to the work.
Digging around, I found the container of organic honey that Jaebum kept in case we had lost our voices, and scooped a few spoons into my mug. Jinyoung had a sweet tooth, and was adamant that he would not drink tea unless it contained an adequate amount of honey. He was so stubborn at times, but in a way it was endearing. Setting the drinks on a tray, I walked out of the kitchen, only to see Bambam sitting on the sofa, waiting for me with the box of biscuits in his hands.
“What –”
“I had a feeling.” He admitted, cutting me off and taking the tray from me with both hands, forcing me to take the box of biscuits from his hands. Bambam had grown a lot as well, and not just in height or age. Somehow or other, in the years we had trained and lived together, he had managed to figure a part of me out without my knowledge, and there was a sense of liberation in not having to try and fit my emotions into a sentence or two so that I could explain it to him. Words were too much of a struggle, and I was beyond tired. I gratefully let him take over the tray and tucked the box under my arm, trailing behind his footsteps to Jinyoung’s room. Right before I knocked on the door, he spoke up once more, stopping me in my actions.
“Don’t take it personally, hyung, but I’m worried about you. I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask you to prepare yourself for what’s coming, but I guess many things are inevitable, and this will be one of those things. Jinyoung hyung is more than a packet of food, so don’t stress about the unimportant things right now, okay? We’re all here for you, hyung.”
He gave me another smile, with more determination in his eyes than I remembered, before walking into the room where the five of them were gathered.
2 Days
Jinyoung felt unwell and said that he wanted to stay in, so we made use of the picnic mat and basket filled with food I brought along with me in an improvisatory manner instead. Laying out the dark blue patterned mat on the tiles of the floor, I brushed my hands over from corner to corner, ensuring that the mat was evenly spread out.
With his hand tightly held in mine, I guided him onto the floor and leaned both our bodies against the wall, propping our backs as comfortably as we could while we sat, knee touching knee. Jinyoung reached over for the picnic basket, and even though I knew that he disliked it when I helped him do the simplest things because he could do it perfectly fine, I extended my own arm and grabbed onto the handle before he could stop me and placed it into his lap.
He pursed his lips, but we both knew that he didn’t have the energy to start a new argument – and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have it in him to finish it anyway. He opened the lid, and pulled out a few plastic containers. There were tuna and spam sandwiches, bottles of soy bean and a box of fresh grapes that I had washed in the hospital bathroom after I had bought them from the convenience store. Removing the lids from the containers and opening the box of grapes, he placed the food in front of us and smiled at me gratefully.
“Are you cold?” I asked cautiously. “Do you want me to grab a blanket or some pillows?”
“It’s fine, Mark. I’m fine.” He repeated, his smile still on his lips, although visibly he seemed as though he had lost some of his fighting spirit in him. I missed that. I missed out quick jabs at one another, joking or not, and I missed our constant bickering that never seemed to cease.
We ate in silence, and although I was chewing on the sandwich, my taste buds did not seem to register the taste. It wasn’t until I had realised that I was chewing the paper wrapper that I started to spit out the paper, trying my best to use my tongue to remove all the bits of paper. I heard Jinyoung chuckle next to me, and as discreetly as I could, spat the small pieces of paper into a tissue.
“I’m sorry that this was all the food I could get.” I apologised meekly, scratching the back of my neck. In fact, I probably should have asked what he felt like eating before just rushing out of his ward with an unexplained ‘Don’t leave this place, I’ll be back in ten minutes’.
Jinyoung shrugged and pressed his side closer to me, nudging my shoulder. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t mind eating anything with you, to be honest. I just wanted to spend some time together.”
I looked back at my half-eaten sandwich, because I wasn’t sure if my facial expression was more of a wince or a feeble excuse for a smile. We continued munching in silence, until I crushed the paper wrapper and threw it into the dustbin from where I was sitting. Jinyoung had nibbled on the sandwich a little, but he had finished almost half of the grapes, so I was relieved that he was eating.
“Did you bring my books, Mark?” He spoke up, and I felt his hand on my arm, his fingertips grazing my forearm gently. I nodded, and reached an arm to grab my bag careless, unwilling to break our shared skin contact. The bag strap was taut, because of the sheer weight of the books inside the bag. I grunted, before putting the bag on my lap.
“Why’d you ask me to bring you some books, JInyoung?” I asked, stretching my fingers after releasing the heavy bag strap.
Jinyoung chuckled, his eyes turning into half-crescents and his smile widening to show his teeth. “I just thought it would be nice to read today, don’t you think so?”
And of course, I wouldn’t disagree with him.
We ran over the crumpled list of books written on a scrap of paper in his handwriting, and started off by ensuring that I had gotten a copy of every book that he had wanted me to bring. The thing about Jinyoung’s library, was that it was excessive just as it was impressive. Sometimes, if he had taken a liking to a certain author, he would buy different editions of the same book, and maybe in another language too, so that he could read the translated versions. The other members – including me – always thought that it was a waste to splurge our hard-earned savings on pages and words, but Jinyoung had always thought otherwise.
There were yellow and blue post-its sticking out of the books that I had gathered, and the pages were slightly yellowed and dog-eared. Some of the front covers of the book had his scribbles written at the bottom corners, but they were all too illegible for me to make out.
“Well? This was your idea.” I raised my eyebrows at curiously, not a clue as to what we were going to do.
“I’ve marked these books because they contain my favourite quotes. I thought it would be nice to read them with you, because I think I would’ve fallen asleep if I asked you to read an entire book to me.” He explained, a soft smile still grazing his lips as he looked upon the books with a somewhat longing expression.
I nodded again, after perceiving an inkling of what he wanted to do and why he wanted to do it. He probably loved his books a lot too, but it would have been nearly impossible to finish reading them, with his deadline approaching so imminently. Just by rereading what he had once highlighted as his favourites would have to be enough for now, because there was no other alternative. Picking up one book was atop the pile, I tugged at the yellow post-it and let the pages fall until the spine of the gave way to that particular page.
“What book is this, anyway?” I mused, looking over the Korean text but not processing it as quickly.
“It’s a translated version of Wally Lamb’s We Are Water.” Jinyoung quipped, not even having to peek at the cover like how I was trying to without getting caught. “Have you ever read it?”
A guilty smile found its way to my face as I shook my head. “I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“Read the part I highlighted.” Jinyoung encouraged, looking more at me than at the book now.
With his fixated gaze on my every movement, I focused my concentration on the faded pink ink that had set a short paragraph apart from the rest of the text. Praying that my tongue would not slip or mispronounce anything, I mustered my courage and gulped and started to read aloud, but softly at the same time.
“’Maybe. But think about it. We are like water, aren’t we? We can be fluid, flexible when we have to be. But strong and destructive, too. And something else, I think to myself. Like water, we mostly follow the path with the least resistance.’” I paused for a while, after reaching the end of his highlighter portion. “Is there anything special or different about the highlighted parts?”
Jinyoung let my question sink in with thoughtfulness, and nibbled on his thumb as he came up with a plausible answer. “Maybe yes, maybe no. I guess it’s bound to be different for separate readers, but for me, these were just bits of advice that helped me out when I was put in a difficult spot.”
My eyes softened as I finally comprehended what Jinyoung’s intentions were. He was giving me his life advice, hoping that the things that he had treasured could be passed onto me, and that maybe I would take away the exact same guidance that books had given to him. I closed the book in my hands, and took the red paperback one he was holding out in his pale hands, his finger already tucked in between two pages where the post-it was marked. The cursive font was scrawled across the cover; Infamous by Sherrilyn Kenyon.
’Sometimes I think the only point of our miserable lives is simply to learn how to live with the consequences of the bad decisions we’ve made.’
And we continued to do that. Jinyoung would point out book after book, revealing small fractions of his emotions or his state of mind when his eyes first came across the words that seemed to quell whatever storm of emotions he had felt. Little stories that had been checkpoints in his short but eventful life, and an endless but limited timeline that he had drawn out with his own fingertips and thoughts.
Usually, one book would contain only one quote, and I asked him how he had decided that one mere sentence was the most distinguishable, worthy and representative of an entire book. He answered that he just related to it more than any other parts, or maybe he himself had been too engrossed in the one highlighted chunk as compared to everything else that stood before and after it. There was a book, Falling Into You by Jasinda Wilder, also translated into Korean text from the original English version, which had two post-its.
“Must have been something that had stood out.” Jinyoung cogitated, as if he himself didn’t remember discovering two focal points in the same book.
The first quote went something like: ‘You don’t ever really let go, though. You don’t stop. You don’t stop hurting, you don’t stop loving. It doesn’t go away – you just keep living, and eventually shit gets pushed into the background of your life so it’s not consuming you every day. And then one day, you know you’re okay. It still hurts, you still miss that person. And yeah, you forget the details. The way she smelled, the way her mouth tasted, how her skin felt, the sound of her voice. It’s almost like a different life, a different person who loved her, was with her. But on a day-to-day level, you know you’re okay. Sort of.’
It was a longer section, and seeing how he had dragged the highlighter across slowly, very rarely sloping upwards at the right margins, made me imagine how he had looked like when he decided to highlight the segment. He must have had the cap of the highlighter either in his other hand or in between his teeth, while staring at the words and processing them as personally as he could relate them, taking his time to colour the black words with a shade of blue. The ink had seeped through the page, but the words now coated in blue mattered much more than any other page.
I contemplated if his heart seemed to be constricting when he had first read the sentences. It hurt me, and I felt it acutely in my chest. I never wanted to stop loving him, and while I never wanted to live a day without being able to remember how he felt in my arms, or how his laughter bounced off the edges of the walls when we were alone together, the thought that I would one day move on from him, terrified me. I swallowed, carefully turning the pages until I found the next post-it, somewhere closer to the back of the book.
I liked it much better.
‘Any time spent with you, anywhere, is worth it.’
I sneaked a quick look at Jinyoung, whose head was leaned against the wall while he still sat cross-legged beside me. He was snoring quietly, his breaths puffing in and out at a slow and steady pace. I had wanted to tell him that I found my favourite quote amongst his favourite quotes, but I guess that would have to wait. He was asleep, and I didn’t have a shred of courage in me to wake him up.
I brushed his fringe across his forehead, pushing them back slightly while I held my breath. His eyes squinted in concentration, although he was still asleep. After a few moments of stillness, the tension in his face dissipated and so did the lines in between his eyes and on his forehead.
For the next hour or so, before the doctor came in to check on us and put Jinyoung in bed, sternly but at the same time almost resignedly telling him not to leave his bed anymore, I continued to flip through the pages of his books while he slept contentedly beside me. At some point, he had curled up against me, his head on my lap while his legs had stretched out on the floor that surrounded us. Although I had thought that it would be uncomfortable, he made no moves to change his sleeping position throughout the entire time he slept on my lap.
I found another book in the pile of books that he never finished describing to me, and it was in the original English version this time. I looked down, feeling the soreness in my leg beginning to build up but not processing the pain, only absorbed in the sleeping boy, who looked vulnerable and small and unprotected and stunning, all at once.
There was a giant lurch in my stomach, as if something had been dropped into a horrible darkness, and I felt my gut twist as the familiar words rolled off the tip of my tongue effortlessly when I read them out soundlessly, finally finding solace in a language that I understood without a single hitch. Thoughtless by S.C. Stevens. Yet, I had come across – probably – the most applicable, and the most painful quote that he had highlighted.
‘It was heartfelt, it was heartbreaking. It was extreme joy, it was bone-crushing grief. It was fiery-hot, it was icy-cold. It was true love sprouting… it was true love dying.’
1 Day
“Jinyoung? Are you awake?”
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Mark.”
“I love you so much it hurts.”
“Don’t you dare forget that.”
“I love you.”
“I’m sorry for dying on you.”
“I forgive you.”
“Stop lying.”
“Okay.”
“You still love me, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Because I love you too.”
The Day
“Mark?” Jackson’s hand brushed my shoulder, much gentler than I would ever expect from the coarse boy. “He left this for you.”
I knew that I probably looked empty and distant, because there was not a single emotion stirring within me. It felt as though time had stopped, and every movement I made took hours to complete. Even the smallest of actions were too much effort, and staying still brought some sense of tranquillity to me, although it also seemed to consume me in an abysmal, carnivorous manner.
Seeing how I had no intention to even look at him, Jackson wordlessly put an object in my hand, carefully untangling my fingers from my clenched fists. He left me alone, his parting footsteps and the sound of the door shutting the last things I heard before I peeked at my hands.
It was a letter.
I tore the soft envelope too quickly, my hands shaking wildly. The edges of the paper had been carelessly ripped off, but the writing in the middle of it was still intact. His handwriting was small and shaky. There were at least three different colours he wrote in, each of the new coloured paragraphs starting out neatly before the words became more faded and jumbled and difficult to read. He probably lacked have the strength to write it all in one go. The characters seemed to dwindle as the letter progressed, and at some points the circles looked like squares and the ink started to fade. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to prep myself before I read the last thing that Jinyoung would ever write to me.
“For God’s sake, Jinyoung. Here goes nothing.”
-
Hey Mark. Hi Mark. What’s up, Mark?
I wish I had used different greetings all the time. I wish I had given you more nicknames. I wish I had more chances to let you meet my parents.
Okay.
I’m going to stop myself there, because I didn’t have the intention of writing this letter to lament about all the things I didn’t get to do with you because my body gave out on me. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try not to make you or me cry. I’m really going to try my best, but whenever I cry, you cry, so hopefully when I’m no longer there, you don’t cry as much, right? Haha.
Maybe it’s a little too early to start with the dead jokes. I’m guessing that by the time you get your hands on this letter, it already happened. It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? Does it remind you of one of the movies we watched where that one guy converses with his dead wife through letters? Our story is probably less horror and more on the cheesy side, not that I’m complaining. Also, if we’re comparing our story and that gruesome film, I hope you remember what happened when the guy forgot to lock his windows at night. (Mark, if you still haven’t gotten my warning, I’m telling you to lock the windows. I don’t care if it was a fictional film, or in your words “dead-ass bullshit”, you’re going to do it so the rest of the members don’t get manhandled by demonic possession. I mean it.)
Let’s move onto a less gory topic for a change.
Do you remember the first time I had asked you what you’re getting for Father’s Day, because I had no idea what to get for my dad? You started crying, and you locked yourself in your room and refused to even let me talk to you for the next two days. I had to pry the information out of Jaebum, who told me that you grew up without a father. Blame it on the stressful promotion period, the loneliness of being in another country by yourself or just a bad day, but I think that was the first time you ever openly cried in front of me. Months later, I would bring the topic up out of curiosity, but you weren’t ready to tell me yet. I let it go, because I didn’t want to push you. A year later, on Father’s Day, you slapped your hand over my mouth after dinner, shoved me into your room and explained it to me.
Contrary to what you said, I don’t think you’re weak, Mark.
A child without a father does not want to create waves because he has been underwater longer than he cares to explain. He’s not a pushover, and he won’t stand for others trying to walk all over him. He will deflect from personal questions and bite back with sarcasm and sharp comments. He self-deprecates, calls himself messed up like it’s as casual as his first name. Maybe he’ll never be honest with himself.
But you’re honest with me. You’re strong, independent and you’re there for me even when I hide things from you. You always think that you’re not as good as you are, but you’re so much more than just a name. You take care of everyone, you check on us before sleeping when we fall down at practice and you work harder than us so that you can treat us to dinners even though we lie that we would rather eat instant ramyeon if it meant that you could save up for a plane ticket home. You’re considerate and kind, and you’re not weak. You’re not messed up, you’re not alone, and you’re (possibly) my favourite person in the world.
Okay, I lied.
You’re my favourite person in the world. There’s no “possibly”, “maybe” or “perhaps”. I am one hundred percent sure of that.
I don’t have much time to write this, nor do I have the strength to do so. In fact, knowing how you are, you probably wouldn’t let me leave your sight in my last week, so I’m really pressed for time, trying to find excuses for you to leave me alone so I can write this. I’m so scared, Mark, although I’m not scared of death anymore, because the past six months have completely crushed any unrealistic hopes I have, and I’ve slowly come to accept that my time is running up. But I’m still scared.
I’m scared that I won’t be there to wake you when we’re late for work. I’m scared that I can’t see your face pressed up against the glass of the recording studio when I’ve locked you out because I’m trying to sing without distractions. I’m scared that we’ll have no more chances to sneak out of the dorm at 4AM and drop by the convenience store for instant jjajangmyeon. I’m scared that I’ll forget how your fingers feel when they’re interlocked with mine, or how dizzy I get when you steal kisses from me, or how many times we got caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.
I’m terrified that I’ll have to leave you behind, and you’ll be alone. I don’t want you to be alone, Mark. I want to be by your side, always. I’ve never wanted anything more than to have a career with you fighting alongside me, pushing each other through the hard times and struggles and being there to rock your chair lightly or blend your burger because your teeth had become too worn out to chew solid foods. I want to grow old with you, Mark.
I’m sorry for being a douche. I know I told you that I would defeat whatever illness it was, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry for lying. I know the doctor already told us the statistics, and one in twenty was never a good chance. I’m sorry for trying to make things better, even though you and I both knew that it was going to turn out this way.
I want to be selfish, and tell you to never leave my side. But how can I, when I’m going to be gone soon? I want so badly for you to never get over me, and to keep loving me, even if I’ve already passed on and no longer walk alongside you or pass you notes when we evaluate our stage performances. I want you all to myself.
But I love you. I love you too much to be selfish, and it’s really hurting me right now to write this, but in the distant future, If you ever start to feel a change of heart, or maybe if the feelings you have for me begin to fade, and you’re indecisive as fuck because you would feel like you’re cheating on your dead boyfriend, I want you to go for it.
I didn’t want you to leave you with a dead boyfriend, Mark, but I’m too cowardly to break things off with you before dying. I wanted you by my side until the very end, and I know how terribly lonely you’re going to be when I leave you. You’ll lock yourself in a room for days, refuse to eat or shower or sleep, and you’ll break my heart and everyone else’s. It’s going to be alright, because I guess the mourning period is justified. But I swear, Mark, if you put yourself through heartbreak and if a dead guy is one of the options, just go for the one who’s alive. As long as he treats you well, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I may want to kick his ass a few times, but I’ll be fine with it, because I love you.
Shit. I’m crying now. I really can’t afford to smudge any of the ink, because I don’t have it in me to rewrite this letter and also you’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. I can’t believe you sprinted out of the room to buy me ice cream because I begged for it. I’m so lucky to have you. I’m so lucky to have been loved by you. I’m the luckiest man alive (or dead, by now).
Okay. No more dead jokes.
I love you, Mark, and I’ll never stop loving you. Please don’t expect any surprise flowers every year on your birthday, because I’m not that tacky of a person to order 80 bouquets for you and you don’t even like flowers that much anyway. Listen to Jaebum well, and don’t get too pissed at Jackson either – underneath all the sarcasm, you know he wants the best for you (well, most of the time). The kids are there for you too, so don’t forget to depend on them once in a while. Don’t turn to solitude when things start to get tough, and learn to embrace your flaws. They’re not as bad as you think they are, and trust me – you have strengths that outweigh them for miles. Have more confidence in yourself. Walk with your head held high, and if you’re going to sing in the shower, do it loudly. Live a full life, Mark. Smile more often, laugh daily and try not to skip your meals.
I love you.