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It feels like an out-of-body experience when Jisung wakes up in the hospital. He feels like he’s floated up to the ceiling and is watching from above as his family huddles around his lifeless form.
Machines whir rhythmically next to him, forcing air in and out of his lungs. An IV bag drips next to his bed, the line pierced into his veins. He looks pale and gaunt, surgical wounds hidden behind his hospital gown.
Everyone is crying, the sobs only growing louder as his boyfriend Doyeon bursts into the room.
“Did I miss it?” He sounds like he’s been crying for hours. His mother shakes her head, trying and failing to say something.
It’s his brother who speaks up.
“We’re about to call the doctor and let him know we’ve made up our minds.”
“What are you guys even talking about?” Jisung is surprised when nobody reacts, not even him, lying on the bed. He stays there, eyes closed, resting.
A voice from the corner of the room draws his attention.
“They can’t hear you, Jisung.”
He doesn’t recognize the voice or the face of the stranger, clad in all black. He has auburn hair and a long trench coat just barely brushing the floor.
“Who are you?”
The man smiles somberly, before turning back to the crowd in the room.
“No, really,” suddenly Jisung is on the ground next to him, watching as a team of doctors come into the room. “ Who are you? ”
The man shushes him softly, gesturing to the commotion. He can’t comprehend what is going on, trying and failing to grasp any piece of reality.
“What’s going on?” Jisung is growing frantic at the non-answers. At his family leaving the room.
The man smiles warmly, hand resting on Jisung’s shoulder. “They’re letting you go.”
“Letting me- What are you talking about?” He watches in full-blown horror as the team of doctors turn off the machines attached to him.
It’s hitting him now that there is something terribly, terribly wrong. The whirring on the machines slows into silence, his body flails briefly before sinking into the bed beneath it. His family comes back in to say goodbye.
Jisung is screaming now. As he tries to grab at Doyeon, his mom, anybody, his hand passes through them, as if he’s…
A ghost.
He turns on a dime, facing the man in the corner. “What are you?”
“Your brain’s been dead for weeks,” the man says instead. “They just only really decided it was time to let your body go, too.”
“I died? How is that even possible? I was driving home, then…”
His hands are firm on the wheel as he shouts, his best friend Felix on the other end of his call. “It just sounds like he’s fucking somebody else, no?”
“Dude, absolutely. His behaviour has been so suspicious lately, you should confront him about it. He’s getting away with too much, Jisung, and you just let him.”
“Well, I don’t have proof that he’s talking to other men. That’s the issue, Lix. I just see snapchats from other guys. That doesn’t mean that he’s answering, right? He’s just getting them.”
“If it were multiple men I’d see your point,” Felix says. “It’s the same guy, Ji. Nobody is that thirsty.”
“I was,” he points out. “I was in fact that thirsty.”
Felix hums non-commitally, heaving out a sigh. “Anyway.”
“You can’t say ‘anyway’ if you don’t have anything to change the subject to. You have to sit here and listen to me talk about Doyeon’s dick and balls.”
“I’d rather die, I think.”
“I might just, actually. This guy is on my ass like no other. He’s driving like an insane person.” Jisung’s eyes flicker up repeatedly to his rearview. His focus on the driver behind him stops him from noticing that the car in front of him has slowed down considerably.
That’s the last thing he remembers.
The man’s hand finds his shoulder again, fingers of his other hand reaching out to brush away the stray tears rolling down his cheek. “My name is Minho. I’m here to take you home.”
“Home,” Jisung whimpers. “This is home.”
“No,” Minho’s voice is soft and comforting. It feels like a warm hug, especially in this cold hospital room. “Not anymore.”
“I’m not ready. This can’t be real.” His lower lip is wobbling as he watches the people he loves say goodbye for the last time.
“It’s hard, Jisung. Sometimes things aren’t fair. I can’t promise that it’ll be easy to get used to. These things never are. What I do promise is that you won’t be alone.” Minho runs a hand gently up and down the brunet’s spine.
He shakes his head, sniffling helplessly. “This can’t be happening.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” Minho says.
Jisung shakes his head again with more purpose this time. “No, I don’t want to lose them yet.”
The auburn-haired man considers this, watching him closely before snapping his fingers. It feels like the room freezes around them. “Now we have all the time in the world. Let’s go.”
He leads the way out of the room, only briefly glancing over his shoulder to make sure Jisung is following.
He steps out of the hospital and into the warm summer air, turning his face towards the night sky. Tonight the stars seem brighter, twinkling with more ferocity than he’s ever seen. He finds himself stuck there, watching. They flicker in and out of existence. He feels like he can see explosions, black holes, new stars.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Minho’s voice shakes him from his trance. He blinks dumbly, looking at him.
“Sorry?”
“The stars,” he whispers. “They’re more beautiful after you die. A reward after you worked so hard. All your life, you worked. I saw it myself.”
“Who are you, Minho?” Jisung’s voice shakes. He tries not to let Minho’s words get to him but he feels fresh tears pricking at his eyes. He worked so hard.
Minho smiles, cat-like. His eyes seem to twinkle with mischief, but he still avoids the question. “I’m here to take you home.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Walk with me, Jisung.” Minho offers his hand. Jisung frowns, his brows knitting together, so the other boy snatches his hand, dragging him forward. “We’re walking. Not optional.”
Jisung stumbles but Minho catches him, grinning. “I just died, can’t you be a little bit nicer to me?”
“You don’t like it as much,” he replies easily. “Besides, I’ve offered you all the comforting words I know.”
There’s something about being spoken to so casually that does ease Jisung’s mind. He leans a bit closer to Minho as they walk, giving his hand a small squeeze. The squeeze that the auburn-haired boy returns grounds him.
“Do you have any questions, Jisung?”
The question’s been lingering, sitting on the tip of his tongue. It spills out despite his best efforts. “What did I do to deserve it?”
Minho sighs, shaking his head. He casts Jisung a pitiful look, squeezing his hand again. “Nothing. Sometimes there’s no reason. Bad things happen to good people all the time.”
“Was I? Was I good ? It always felt like everything was against me. I always felt like I was being punished, no matter what I did.” Jisung swallows thickly, tears pricking at his eyes again. “It always felt like I was wrong. Different.”
Minho slows down, letting go of his hand to curl an arm around his shoulders. Jisung can feel the heave of the other man’s chest as he takes a deep, steadying breath.
“Bad things happen to good people all the time,” Minho repeats, glancing at him. “Nobody’s objectively good though, Jisung. You were as good as you could be. The human condition is too grave to expect everyone to be a saint.”
Jisung sighs, turning his eyes back up to the sky. “What’s next? Where do I go?”
“I take you home-“
“What does that mean though? You’ve just been saying home. Where is home? What does it mean for my future?” Jisung’s acutely aware of how frantic he sounds but he can’t help the panic building in his chest. There’s a whole afterlife ahead of him and he doesn’t have a clue what his fate is.
Minho chuckles, low and quick. “There’s no good place or bad place if that’s what you think. You just.. exist. It’s a world with no consequences and no restrictions.”
“So nobody… damns me to hell? I don’t walk through any pearly gates?”
Minho shakes his head, squeezing his shoulder. “People are too complicated to decide if they’re objectively good or bad. A really good person could commit a terrible offence, or a bad person could do some really amazing things. It’s pointless, anyway. Everyone always ends up in the dirt anyway, you know?”
“Huh,” Jisung mumbles. “I see.”
“Anything else? Or are you ready to go home?”
A white-hot fear pierces through him then, his eyes blowing wide. “I can’t just go. I’m not done here.”
Minho’s eyes soften, his lips turning down into a slight frown. “There’s nothing left for you here, Jisung.”
“I have to make sure they’re okay.”
The auburn-haired boy sighs, shoulders slumping. “If that’s what you want, we’ll stay as long as you need.”
When Jisung visits his parents, it completely breaks his heart. His mom’s a wreck, stuck in bed with one of his childhood toys clutched to her chest.
He walks through the halls of their house, stopping to admire pictures he hasn’t truly looked at in years. Minho stays a few steps behind him, letting him take his time.
He relives his childhood memories and can’t help but feel grateful for the parents he had. They cared so much about him, making the smallest bumps and scrapes a huge deal. Every misstep was a lesson, something to grow from.
He stands in the family room and remembers wrestling with his brother when they were kids. He sits at the island, remembering all of the rushed breakfasts before school.
His backyard is so different now, his old swing rotted and hanging on an old rope. His treehouse is missing from the oak at the end of the property, taken by time.
His dad’s rusty Civic sits in the driveway, the same one he’s had since Jisung was a baby. The same one he came home in for the first time.
“Jisung,” his dad says from the passenger seat. “Eyes on the road. Be careful.”
Jisung sucks his teeth, glaring at his dad out of the corner of his eye. “I am being careful. I don’t know what else to tell you, Dad.”
“I just want you to be safe.”
When Jisung steps into his childhood room, it’s a habit to flick the light on. It flickers once, twice, and then the lights kick on. His mother lets out a sob down the hallway.
It’s only then he remembers the wiring in their house is faulty, meaning all the lights in the house flicker when he turns his own on. Minho’s hand finds his shoulder, offering a grounding squeeze.
“She knows you’re here.”
Footsteps come padding down the hallway, his father passing easily through Minho and him. He looks around, wide-eyed, before turning the light off again. He takes a few more shaky steps into the room before Minho reaches over, flicking it back on.
His dad’s lip trembles, eyes brimming with tears. “Jisung…”
“He can’t hear you but you should say what you need to say. Get it off your chest while you can.” Minho squeezes his shoulder one last time before stepping out of the room.
Jisung takes a deep, shuddering breath. What does he even say?
“I’m sorry,” he starts. “For everything. I wish you didn’t have to go through this. I’m sorry that I was always so far away from you and Mom. You deserved a better son.”
He sits on his bed, the springs creaking under his weight. His dad’s eyes are drawn to the source of the sound. Jisung wishes he could see him.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” his dad says, staring through him. Talking to himself. “We miss you every day, Jisung. We always will.”
“I know,” Jisung sniffs. “I’m not ready to go.”
“It was hard to let you go.” His dad backs towards the door, eyes travelling over the room. “I hope you’re better, now.”
Jisung nods to himself. “I think I am. Thank you.”
His dad flicks off the light and steps out, closing the door behind him. Minho comes back after a few minutes, passing through the door to sit next to him.
They sit together, quiet. Jisung tries a few times to conjure up the words to express how broken he feels. Minho curls an arm around him, resting his head on Jisung’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything.”
The brunet just nods, eyes trained on the poorly installed floorboard he used to trip over. He takes a few more minutes for himself before he gets up. “I’m gonna keep looking around.”
Minho nods, laying back. “I’ll be here if you need me, yeah?”
“Thanks, Min.” He smiles, tight-lipped and forced, then steps back into the hallway.
His eyes drift over details he’s never really seen before. He stares longingly at the dents in the wall from roughhousing with his brother. The scratches from his childhood dog, Bbama.
Bbama.
Jisung’s eyes go wide as he realizes he never got to say goodbye to him. He stumbles to the top of the stairs, calling out for him.
He hears nails tapping across the hardwood downstairs before a puff of white runs into view, sitting at the bottom of the staircase. His tail wags eagerly, tongue lolling out.
“Oh, Bbama,” he practically flies down the stairs, kneeling beside the dog. He watches Jisung curiously, truly looking at him. Bbama can see him.
“Baby, I am so sorry. You’re not going to understand why I don’t come back.” It’s hard to let go of his family, but Jisung can’t explain to his dog where he went. He’ll live out the rest of his life thinking he was abandoned. The thought brings tears to his eyes and Bbama tries to lick them away but he passes through Jisung.
Bbama whines somewhere in the back of his throat. Trying again to reach his face. It’s pointless, though. He pushes himself up, jaw clenched. He can’t spend his whole time saying goodbye crying.
Jisung drags himself back up the stairs, Bbama trailing close behind. There’s one last person here he has to see.
He passes easily into his parents’ room, watching for a moment while his father runs his fingers through his mother’s hair. He listens to her cry, her throat audibly raw.
It’s hard and so, so heartbreaking to see her like this. His mother is the strongest woman he knows, he doesn’t think that she’s cried in front of him in her life.
His dad is the first to see Bbama, furrowing his brows. “What do you need, Bbama?”
The dog ignores him, eyes trained on Jisung as he wags his tail. His dad follows his gaze and for a moment it feels like he’s looking at Jisung before he continues to search the area.
“Bbama, what are you looking at?”
He barks, running a circle around Jisung’s feet before hopping onto the bed, eyes still focused on him. His mom sits up, too, looking in his direction.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, sniffling. “You deserve so much better than this.”
He wishes she could hear him, wishes there was a way to apologize face-to-face. Wishes there was anything he could do to change his fate.
His eyes land on the laptop on the bedside table, the screen dimmed as it lays in waiting to be used. He takes the opportunity, walking over and dragging his finger across the trackpad.
The screen lights up. Jackpot.
His parents both turn, watching the screen of the laptop. He types out five words into the search bar.
I’m sorry. I love you.
His mother becomes completely inconsolable, heaving with the strength of her sobs. His father is pale, leaning closer and adjusting his glasses to be sure of what’s happened.
Jisung takes a few steps back, leaning down to place a kiss on Bbama’s head before he leaves the room, tears pooling in his eyes.
Minho is waiting outside the door, arms open. Jisung steps into his hold, squeezing tightly. The auburn-haired man doesn’t flinch, squeezing back. He brings a hand up to cradle the back of Jisung’s head. “Ready to go?”
Jisung shakes his head vigorously, sniffling. “I just want to sit on the porch one last time.”
Minho nods, leading him outside. They sit on the bench his dad built over a decade ago, watching cars pass by.
“I’m sorry I’m keeping you here,” Jisung says.
Minho shakes his head, stretching his arm across the backrest behind Jisung. “It’s what I’m here for, Jisung. I’m supposed to help you process it. If this is what you need to do, then this is what we do.”
“Do you ever stop? Take a rest?”
“No, but I don’t need to.” Minho shrugs, eyes trained on a spider slowly weaving its web in the corner. “I don’t get bored or tired. And even if I did, there’s so much to learn when I do this. It’s interesting.”
“You said….” Jisung trails off, tongue darting out to wet his cracking lips. “You said you saw me work hard. My whole life.”
“I did.”
“Why were you watching?”
Minho smiles fondly, his hand sliding forward to rest on Jisung’s shoulder. “You’re one of mine. We all get a handful of people who we take care of.”
“If you’re taking care of me, why did you let me die?” The question slips out before Jisung can stop it. He claps a hand over his mouth, trying to scoop the words back into it, but they hang heavy in the air between them.
Minho looks sad, eyes downcast. “There are some things I can’t change. I was there every time the rain stopped just as you were leaving work and every time your coffee was made just the way you like it. I was always there, but there’s only so much I can do.”
Jisung nods, sniffling. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
The next person Jisung visits is Felix, who seems to not have moved from the couch at all the past few days. Chan is crouching in front of him, petting his hair gently. Felix’s face is buried in a pillow.
It breaks his heart to see Felix like this. Back when he was alive their friends called them sunshine twins, the two happiest, most attentive people in their group. They were inseparable. Now Felix has to learn to live without him and Jisung doesn’t know how he’s going to cope. Clearly, the answer is not well.
“You two were close,” Minho says softly. “It must be a shame to see him like this.”
“Fucking sucks,” Jisung mumbles, crouching next to Chan. He wishes he could offer Felix any comfort, but it’s pointless.
Felix pushes himself up on his elbows, sniffling. “I’m sorry,” he says to his boyfriend, moving to sit up.
Chan shakes his head, resting his hands on Felix’s thighs. “Don’t be, it’s hard.”
“So fucking hard,” Felix agrees, lower lip trembling. “It feels like I won’t survive it.”
“I know,” Chan whispers. “But you will. He wouldn’t want you to spend your day rotting on the couch, you know?”
“How do you know,” Felix snaps. Both Chan and Jisung’s eyes widen at the outburst. Jisung doesn’t know how to help, looking around helplessly. Minho shakes his head. There’s nothing you can do.
Chan just nods, patting Felix’s thighs before standing up. “Do you want some space, baby?”
Felix’s anger gives way to devastation and he shakes his head quickly. “No, no… Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just…” He buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.
Chan nods in understanding, sitting next to him. “I know, love.” He pulls the smaller boy into a tight hug, rubbing his back.
Jisung stands, then. He takes a step back to just watch for a moment, heart aching at the sight. “I’m so sorry, Felix…”
The thing that hurts Jisung the most is that Felix knows he was the last person Jisung spoke to before he died. There was no question as to what happened. He wishes that wasn’t a burden Felix had to carry.
Chan steps away then to run him a bath and Jisung knows what he has to do, hoping desperately that he can .
He heads to the master bedroom, pulling open the wardrobe. As he digs through to find exactly what he’s looking for, a few pieces fall to the floor around his feet. His hands pass through them though and his brows pinch together in confusion.
“How does it decide?”
He’s asking himself but of course Minho answers. “There’s a right answer. I don’t really know how it’s determined, but you’ve been nailing it so far.”
“I’m leaving a mess,” he says as he finds what he is looking for. Jisung pulls their college sweater out of Felix’s closet. More specifically, he pulls his own college sweater from Felix’s closet. Nearly four years ago now, Felix claimed the hoodie with Jisung’s name stitched into the breast.
“Why would you need a sweater with your own name on it?” He asks while cleaning out Jisung’s closet. “I want it anyway, so I’m gonna take it.”
He doesn’t argue, just watching Felix fondly. “Okay, whatever, dickbag.”
Jisung lays the sweater out neatly on the bed with a pair of sweatpants, looking guiltily at the pile of clothes he’d knocked to the floor. “That sucks,” he huffs, grabbing the remote and putting on his favourite movie.
He flips through scene after scene of Howl’s Moving Castle, searching for exactly the moment he’s looking for. Once he finds it, he pauses it to wait for Felix to finish up.
Chan is the first one into the room, clearly coming to do the same thing Jisung’s just done. He looks wide-eyed at the mess, then the clothes lain out on the bed.
He steps back to the door, calling into the hallway. “Felix, baby, have you been in the bedroom recently?”
“No, I couldn’t even get up. When would I have had the chance?”
Chan shakes his head, bewildered, and starts to pick up the clothes Jisung so graciously dropped.
It takes a while for Felix to make it back but Jisung just lingers by the TV, watching Chan clean up and inspect the clothes. He huffs out a laugh, in disbelief, then steps out to retrieve his boyfriend.
Felix steps into the room, his robe tied tightly around him, and Jisung takes the chance to unpause the movie.
The scene he picked is corny and had he been alive to watch it with Felix, the boy would call him sappy. Jisung knows, though, that it could offer some comfort to his friend right now.
It’s a famous scene Felix has surely seen a million times before, but he stands by the door with wide eyes while he takes in the scene in front of him.
“I feel terrible,” Howl says grimly. “Like there’s a weight on my chest.”
Sophie smiles warmly in understanding. “A heart’s a heavy burden.”
Felix sniffs, burying his face in his hands while Chan rubs his shoulders, wide-eyed. “This is Jisung’s doing, I just know it,” he cries, stumbling forward to grab the sweater off of the bed.
“Seems like him, doesn’t it?” Chan sounds completely awestruck, looking around the room. Jisung closes the door to the wardrobe.
The two turn their heads quickly, staring at the source of the sound. “Oh, Ji…” Felix is really crying now, clutching the hoodie to his chest. “You should go, I don’t want you to get stuck here.”
Jisung knows Felix can’t see him, but the way the younger boy stares through him makes him feel like back when he was alive, when they’d watch each other from across the room and exchange knowing looks. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I know-“
“I feel like I did it to you. Like if you hadn’t been on the phone, or… I don’t know…” He sniffs again, leaning into Chan’s touch as the older boy wraps his arms around him.
“It’s not your fault, Felix,” Chan and Jisung say in unison. Minho places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, squeezing.
“Just one more thing,” Jisung pleads. He rewinds the movie back to where he’d paused before, letting it play.
“A heart’s a heavy burden.”
He takes a step back, then another, then nods to Minho, who closes the door behind them on their way out of the room.
“How many stops do we have left, Jisung?”
He sighs, guiding Minho out of Felix’s house. “Just one. I’m sorry to drag you around.”
“You’re grieving, too,” Minho says. “Well stay as long as you need.”
Jisung nods weakly. “What are you, Minho? Did you ever have to go through this?”
“I did… But that was a long time ago.”
“Was it this awful? Is it always like this?” Jisung feels pathetic asking, but he needs to know.
Minho shrugs lightly, looking down at him with a soft expression. “For the ones who aren’t ready.”
“Were you?”
“I was,” Minho says, looking back ahead. Jisung waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.
They walk in silence for a moment and it’s deafening, swallowing Jisung’s every thought. He feels like he’s suffocating. Minho catches on quick, though.
“I was really sick, and medicine hadn’t advanced as far as it has now, so there was no fixing it. I just… yeah. That’s it. There was nothing I could do.”
“How long ago?”
Minho thinks. He really thinks and then shakes his head, looking defeated. “I don’t know.”
Jisung feels guilty, grabbing onto Minho’s hand. “That’s okay. It’s not important anyway.”
Minho forces a smile, nodding. “Yeah, that’s true.”
Jisung’s last stop is the one he knows is going to be the most painful for him. He stands outside Doyeon’s door for what feels like an age, just staring at the doorknob.
Minho stands quietly next to him, just watching. He doesn’t push Jisung to make a move, doesn’t ask him what’s taking so long, he just stays next to him with his eyes fixed on the same doorknob.
There are answers inside that Jisung doesn’t want. It would be the end of him to know he spent the last few years of his life with somebody who doesn’t love him. Somebody who used him.
After over an hour of staring, Jisung steps inside. He knew he wouldn’t like what he saw, but this is something he could never have expected.
Doyeon sits on the couch, tossing popcorn into his mouth while a TV show plays in the background. His eyes, though, are focused on his phone as he swipes through Tinder. Jisung’s eyes water, his hands curling into fists.
Something about this is so reminiscent of the times he sat on the couch with him, Doyeon’s phone tilted just so Jisung couldn't see. He wonders if he had been doing the same thing back then, too.
Minho tries to hold him back but Jisung moves too fast, lunging forward to knock the phone straight out of his hand.
Doyeon stares at it in disbelief, mumbling “What the fuck” to himself. When he stands, bending to grab it, Jisung hoofs it across the room, sending it crashing into the baseboard and shooting glass into the air.
Minho grabs him before he can do any more damage, pulling him back. “Jisung, that’s enough.”
“It let me do it,” he says, gesturing to the decimated phone lying at the base of the wall. “It was meant to be.”
“And I’m telling you that’s enough,” Minho says firmly.
Jisung pulls himself free of Minho’s grasp, marching down the hallway and stepping into Doyeon’s room. He sits at the desk with the boy’s laptop, scrolling through texts and messages stored in the cloud. He finds hundreds and hundreds of messages spanning over years where Doyeon is planning hookups and dates with other people.
There is no word in the English language to describe the rage that Jisung feels right now. Flames burn in the place that once held his heart. Minho tries to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but he shakes it off, leaving the house. Minho trails behind him, so Jisung breaks into a sprint. He just needs to get his head straight.
Minho lets himself get left behind, standing in the middle of the sidewalk while Jisung whips down the road, into the forest only a block away from Doyeon’s.
It’s familiar, a place he would wander regularly to keep his head clear. Now he runs down the winding pathways, branches and leaves passing through him effortlessly. He veers off course, towards the river that runs quietly through the thick trees.
By the time he’s halfway across the rushing water, it’s really started to hit him. He spent years on this guy who couldn’t spare him a genuine moment of his time. Somebody who couldn’t even love him.
He sits in the rushing water, just letting it pass through him. His clothes feel like they’re soaking wet but he knows they aren’t even real . None of this is real. It’s what his brain has to go through to cope with everything around him. Everything he’s been through. To let him let go.
Minho stands over him, arms crossed while he shifts his weight from foot to foot on the riverbank. “I’m sorry, Jisung.”
“This isn’t even real . I have no idea if he ever loved me.”
“This is as real as it gets, Jisung. The afterlife isn’t a joke, it’s not a death-induced hallucination. This is real, and you’re seeing everything the way it is.”
“I don’t want to believe that. I spent so much time on him and he couldn’t spare me a second.” Jisung knows he’s crying, lips pressed into a frown. He helplessly dabs at his cheeks with his soaking-wet sleeves.
Minho crouches down, hands resting on his thighs. “I’m so sorry, Jisung. It was hard to watch, too. I wish I could’ve done something.”
Jisung wishes he could’ve too.
He wishes there was something he could do now to change his fate. He wishes he could go back and take back all the time Doyeon stole from him. He wishes and he wishes but he’s stuck here, dead.
“I’m ready to go, Minho. I’ve seen everything I needed to see.”
Minho nods, standing. “Okay. You wanna get out of the river?”
“… No.”
“We can stay a few more minutes,” Minho says softly, offering a warm smile.
Jisung nods helplessly, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. The water rushes through him with increasing ferocity. Minho watches from the riverbank, never moving, ever patient.
Finally, Jisung lifts himself on shaking legs out of the water and onto the wet ground Minho stands on. The redhead places a hand between his shoulder blades, guiding him out of the trees.
The trip to wherever “ home ” is escapes Jisung the second he crosses the threshold into his woodsy log cabin. Minho gestures grandly to the carefully decorated living room, beaming proudly.
“I made this just for you. You like to be secluded so I thought maybe a cabin in the forest would be nice. And I know you hate the big light, so I made sure it’s all ambient.”
Minho sounds shy, tucking hair behind his ear. Jisung wants to like it, he really does, but this is where he is stuck forever. He lets out a half-hearted “thanks, Minho,” before making his way to where he guesses the bedroom is.
The bedroom is nice, too, with blackout curtains and one of the softest beds Jisung’s ever seen. He curls under the covers, pulling them over his head.
Minho flicks off the lights, letting Jisung know to call if he needs anything before leaving him be.
It’s hard adjusting to this. Jisung has to accept that he lives here now, sixty or so years out from seeing his friends again.
He stays bed-bound for weeks. He doesn’t need to eat or get up for really any reason at all, so he doesn’t. He stays curled under the sheets.
Minho tries desperately to cheer him up. He comes by nearly every day with different things to try to appeal to Jisung. He brings food, movies, and different animals, but nothing is compelling enough to pull Jisung out from under the covers.
There’s a raw guilt eating away at his insides, too. Minho is trying so hard but his efforts don’t stand to win against Jisung’s miserable demeanour. No amount of comforting touches and whispered words can soothe him.
One day, Minho sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ve made a deal,” he says softly, combing his fingers through the younger boy’s hair. “As much as I’d love for you to stay here, you’re right. It’s not your time.”
Jisung sits up, brows furrowed. “What do you mean, Minho?”
“I’m sending you back,” he says, smiling sadly. “I think you can put your life on the right track if I do, so I made a deal to get you a second chance.”
His heart is hammering against his non-existent ribcage. “I get to go back?”
Minho nods, laying a tender hand on Jisung’s arm. A sudden tiredness washes over him as Minho helps him lay back, tucking him in. “You do. Good luck, Jisung.”
“Thank you, Minho.”
“Of course.”
When Jisung wakes up, he’s in his house. His alarm is blaring, phone vibrating relentlessly against the wooden bedside table. He’s alive.
He shoots upright, scrambling to silence the noise before he throws himself out of bed, stumbling down the hall and running down the stairs. His footsteps are audible.
As he peers outside, everything looks so familiar. The morning of the day of his accident lies in front of him, untouched and unchanged.
He quickly dials work, faking sick to get the day off. He has a few things to get in order.
It’s easy to cut things off with Doyeon. He sends a simple text, hands shaking.
Doyeon
Good morning baby :)
Jisung
I know what you’ve been doing. Don’t contact me again.
He receives several calls from him, so he blocks him. Nice and easy. There’s no time left for him to waste.
Jisung calls Felix after, breathless.
“ Hey Jisungie, what’s shakin’?”
“Do you have time to see me today? I miss you,” he says earnestly.
Felix chokes on his own spit on the other line. “ What the fuck is wrong with you? Yeah, I’m free. Coffee shop in ten? ”
“Fifteen.”
“ Uhh, okay. See you in fifteen. ” The line goes dead and Jisung makes another call.
He tears up at the sound of his mom’s voice on the other end. “Hi, momma.”
“ Is everything okay Jisungie? ”
He nods to himself, taking a deep breath. “Everything is great. I was just thinking that I don’t tell you and Dad that I love you nearly as often as I should.”
“ Well, we love you too, honey. ”
“We should have dinner tonight, the three of us.”
“ Of course, that sounds nice. Are you sure you’re alright? ”
“I’ve never been better, momma. I’ll see you at six.”
“ See you at six, darling. ”
He slips his phone into his pocket, looking around. “Minho,” he says quietly. “I know you’re watching. Thank you, thank you. I’m not going to waste this second chance.”
He knows, somehow, that Minho hears him.