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There are days, or small moments, to be oddly and unnecessarily specific, when Donghyun thinks the universe is playing sick and twisted games with him. Especially when he had already been through enough of its sick and twisted games.
Such days, or nights, exist for a single purpose, it seems: to torment the living hell out of Donghyun.
Like now.
As he stares at his scarred hands, skin black and blue and red, Donghyun thinks about his health insurance. The nurses walking around in the emergency room are paying him no attention. It is, after all, supposedly the dead hour.
Biking at three in the goddamn morning, Donghyun laughs to himself. Way to go, idiot.
“Mr. Kim?”
Donghyun turns to see a doctor standing tall by the end of the bed he is sitting on, his eyes gazing clinically at him from head to toe. Well aware of how fucked up he looks, Donghyun straightens, or makes an attempt to straighten, his back, only to end up wincing at the stinging pain in his neck. The black Range Rover did me good, Donghyun fleetingly thinks.
“That’s me, yup.”
“Very well. I can see that you’re better compared to how you were an hour ago.” The doctor, Dr. Park, remarks matter-of-factly.
“Ah, yes. Much better.” Donghyun sighs, his head still pounding but, as the doctor said, better than earlier.
Earlier, when he was rushed in with a bleeding forehead and a more-than-fucked-up arm.
Earlier, when he was barely conscious when the paramedics were telling—or maybe they were asking—him something.
Earlier, when the blinding white lights of the emergency room were glaring into his eyes, making it seem like he was standing a foot away directly at the Sun.
Earlier, when he couldn’t feel his toes nor his legs nor his hips, his entire lower body felt detached from his torso.
Earlier, when he was uttering syllabic sounds that he thought felt familiar on his tongue, but tasted foreign now.
Donghyun suddenly feels the need to grip the white sheets of the hospital bed he is sitting on, grounding himself in the now. He can’t help but feel pathetic.
“...discharge you, of course, so we had to reach out—”
“Sorry, what was that?” Donghyun asks, now conscious of the fact that he wasn’t listening to what the doctor was saying. The man, old and weary, sighs as he realizes that his entire script was for naught.
“Mr. Kim,” the doctor breathes out, “You can be discharged tonight—”
“That’s great—”
“Only if your emergency contact comes by to pick you up.”
Suddenly, the room swirls in his vision. The temperature drops, and the background noises of indistinct chatter and air-conditioning humming grow louder.
“Emergency contact?”
Sleepily, but pretending not to be, the man in the white coat nods.
“Yes, your emergency contact. Since you are not in this hospital’s system yet, we had to resort to checking the one you have on your mobile phone.”
The words made sense until they didn’t. Donghyun feels lightheaded again, as if he had been hit by the black Range Rover for the second time. If his memory serves him right, there is only one person in his emergency contacts—and it’s neither of his parents nor his older sister.
Flashes of one night come to Donghyun’s mind: fingers intertwined, legs entangled, bed dipping like the ocean floor, an episode of Our Oceans playing in the background. He remembers blurrily the conversation that took place, dripping monochrome on dead stars and forgotten (supposedly) promises.
“May I ask,” Donghyun starts hesitantly, hands still gripping the sheets, “the name of the person you contacted?”
He already knows the answer. He just needs to hear it for himself, just in case he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s remembering it wrong. Maybe it was something that his needy imagination made up, hoping for something that could’ve been. The drugs in his system feel like they’re wearing off because of the intensity of the moment. Holding his breath, Donghyun waits.
Then, comes the joke of the hour.
“Han Dongmin.”
Two words. Three syllables. A name. His fucking name.
Donghyun feels his head pounding and his heart palpitating, sees Fate smiling sinisterly in the corner of the confining room. Ironic, how the reason he went biking at three in the morning is the one picking him up at a hospital. Somebody up there must hate him.
Donghyun nods at the doctor, speechless, as he desperately wishes at that moment that the black Range Rover did him better. More than a concussion and fucked-up limbs. More than anything, Donghyun wishes for an amnesia, just to forget about his fucked-up heart.
It is amusing, to say the least, how the universe clearly has something laid out for Han Dongmin.
Still awake at three in the morning on a Tuesday. Deadlines staring menacingly at him through his laptop screen. Half-eaten rice bowl from some food stand he passed by earlier on the desk.
Dongmin thinks about his 7 AM class and 9 AM shift tomorrow at the convenience store he works part-time at, and his bones crunch at it as his muscles ache. A slave to capitalism at the ripe age of 21. He laughs degradingly at himself.
Suddenly, his phone rings.
At three in the fucking morning.
Frowning, Dongmin moves away from his work desk and towards his bedside table. He peers at the name and falls to his knees. Metaphorically, but still. The gravity of seeing his name is ever-present.
What. The. Fuck.
Consequently, a variety of reasons as to why this boy is calling him in the middle of the night (or early morning) appear at the forefront of his mind. On top of the list is drunk calling, which is very uncharacteristic of the boy but not unlikely given their circumstances. The wound is still fresh, after all. Denial lingers.
Another reason is butt-calling. That, Dongmin thinks, is more likely. He remembers the boy putting his phone in his back pockets more often than not, which results in Dongmin jokingly scolding him about a cracked screen and a broken phone in the long run. Out of nowhere, he recalls a poem about keeping hearts in back pockets.
(There’s a pun in there somewhere, but Dongmin pretends he doesn’t get it.)
Pushing aside unwarranted thoughts, Dongmin picks it up. Waits. Takes a deep breath.
“Hello?” Dongmin wants to call out to him, say his name, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think he deserves to say his name after what had happened. Waits again. After a few seconds, he speaks again. Firmly, this time.
“Hello?” The “Who’s this?” sits heavily on his bottom lip, one push away from tumbling out. He doesn’t want to ask the question either because he is sure of who it is, had known the caller like the back of his hand. Instead, he bites the insides of his cheeks.
“Hello, this is Dr. Park.” An unfamiliar voice finally speaks from the other end, catching Dongmin completely off-guard. “I’m calling from St. Mary’s Hospital on behalf of Mr. Kim Donghyun. According to his mobile phone, you are the only emergency contact Mr. Kim has listed.”
Apparently, something is telling him that he does not, in fact, know the caller like the back of his hand. Not anymore, at least, because there are suddenly a million questions flying through Dongmin’s head. He wonders (but pretends he doesn’t) if his missing heart would’ve shattered, if it weren’t already the way it is, at the clinical way the other person on the phone articulated the words.
Mustering enough courage, Dongmin tries to converse.
“Yes. I am. An emergency contact.”
“Very well. May I ask for your name, please?”
“Han Dongmin.”
His name tastes bitter. His chest rising and falling violently as his hand starts to shake.
“Mr. Han. I’ll keep this brief. I do apologize for the untimely call,” the man begins, but Dongmin’s mind is elsewhere. The million questions start moving onto the front of his mind in an uncharacteristically uncalm manner. One after the other feels like a stab wound, a gunshot.
The most brutal and fatal of them all pushes its way to the front: Is he alive?
“...lucid enough in a couple of minutes, give or take, but—”
“Sorry, doctor. I–” Dongmin cuts off the man speaking hurriedly.
“Is Donghyun.. is he alive?”
“Yes, Mr. Han.” A sigh of relief from Dongmin’s end. “As I was saying earlier, Mr. Kim was barely awake when he was brought in, but he’s coming to consciousness right now. He suffered a concussion due to the impact of the collision, but nothing too serious. Mr. Kim, however, has a severe number of bruises and some wounds on his limbs and torso. No broken bone, fortunately, but he will need time to heal.”
Deep breaths, Dongmin tells himself. The man on the other end of the phone call continues.
“We are calling you to, firstly, let you know that he’s doing alright, and, secondly, ask if you will be able to pick him up for his discharge.”
“Yes.”
Dongmin replies without thinking, without even considering what will happen. To be frank, Dongmin’s priority as of that moment is to get to him, to see him alive for himself, and to make sure he’s alright. With that single thought in mind, Dongmin forgets about the circumstances they are in, why he had to think of excuses and reasons for Donghyun to call him at three in the morning.
“Alright,” the doctor utters robotically, then proceeds to swiftly explain the discharge procedure, telling Dongmin that he can come by in 15 minutes or so. The entire conversation has Dongmin nodding, noting down questions that he will have to ask the doctor as soon as he meets him. Passively, he also takes note of the questions he has for Donghyun, specifically the whys.
Why were you biking at three in the morning?
Why were you biking on the highway?
Why am I still your emergency contact?
Why are you here?
Why am I here?
Why are we here?
“See you soon, Mr. Han.”
The doctor bids him farewell and drops the call. Dongmin, standing by his bedside table in a dimly lit room, finally lets go of the breath that he didn’t know he was holding.
Then he sobs.
Cries.
Shakes.
Drops the phone on the floor.
Drops down to his knees.
Breaks.
His missing heart, Dongmin gathers, might not be missing at all.
Just bleeding and bruised in an emergency room.
If it was not made clear yet, Donghyun had never been fond of hospitals. The minimal white walls, the strong suffocating smell of antiseptic, the cold and impersonal atmosphere that deals with the personal—everything just nudges Donghyun off of his comfort zone two pushes too much.
He had never had bad experiences in hospitals, of course, but his memories tell a different story. He once thought he would lose his grandmother on a hospital bed when he was around nine years old. He remembers watching her barely awake and barely able to raise her arms from the bed, a clear sign of her health declining. Donghyun even remembers her older sister telling him how death and goodbyes are normal as they sat at the foot of their grandmother’s bed. He recalls how his heart almost flatlined at this revelation.
Thankfully, his grandmother is more of a fighter than a departer. She got well eventually, standing up with her own feet from the hospital bed and walking out—no wheelchair or cane—of the hospital itself.
Now, however, is a different story. Donghyun feels like he’s the one who will depart, flee from the room, and vanish. He knows he can’t, given that his entire body is a huge boulder sitting at the bottom of the ocean floor.
Even the act of staying awake is hard, his eyelids heavy and his heart the same. If Donghyun spends five more minutes lying still on the hospital bed, surrounded by a thin curtain, waiting for the doctor to come back, he might actually have to let himself sleep. He fears that his lightheadedness is dragging him down as well.
“Mr. Kim?”
Donghyun turns to look at the doctor, Dr. Park, peeking through the edge of the curtain.
“I’m awake,” is all he says as he sits up before the man pulls the curtain open and—
“Dongmin.”
“Donghyun.”
Holy fuck.
Donghyun may have hated hospitals before because of his memories with his grandmother, but now he hates hospitals because of the inescapable circumstance he finds himself in.
“Are you—” Dongmin starts, then stops. He’s looking at Donghyun anxiously as if he will break into pieces right in front of him. Ironic, Donghyun thinks to himself.
“I’m fine.”
Donghyun finishes sternly, ignoring the ever-present frown on Dongmin’s face. The doctor proceeds to talk about the technicalities of the discharge and Donghyun’s condition, which is not a big deal in his opinion. Absent-mindedly, Donghyun stares at Dongmin, who continues to look at him as he speaks with the doctor. The dizziness makes Donghyun want to throw up, but he has a feeling that it’s not just because of his damn concussion.
Seeing Dongmin after weeks of trying to fill in the empty space he left Donghyun with is enough to send him spiraling into a vacuum. It sucks him in, wrings him dry, and pulls his soul out of its vessel—just to end up on the stark white floor that stinks of antiseptic and bleach, right next to Dongmin’s feet.
Donghyun can see his broken heart right beside it as well, helplessly begging for help.
“Mr. Kim, will that be all right with you?”
“Huh?”
The doctor moves closer to him. Dongmin remains where he stands. Donghyun holds his breath.
“Mr. Han agreed to take you home, given that your concussion may seem better now. However, he also agreed to help monitor your status just in case there will be concerning side effects, particularly on your memory.”
“Can’t that—I mean—Can’t we determine that now? The side effects?”
“It’s hard to come to a conclusion with regard to that matter as it can take hours and even days for some side effects to show, but given your state now, there is not much to be concerned of.”
The doctor turns to Dongmin, and Dongmin nods. Donghyun has always liked that about Dongmin: his unrelenting understanding. The thought of being the one who was on the receiving end of it makes his bones ache.
“It’s just a precaution, of course, Mr. Kim.”
Donghyun sighs as he closes his eyes, accepting how the land lies. It is what it is, he tells himself. Opening his eyes, he sees Dongmin standing in front of him, closer than before.
Suddenly, the hospital doesn’t smell like one anymore; instead, he smells his old laundry detergent, the one that he made the effort to change a couple of weeks ago because of how it taught him unwillingly to teleport to uncharted territories.
“Donghyun-ah.”
Jesus Christ, help me.
“Dongmin-ah.”
Remembering too vividly how Dongmin has left him only with an ache, Donghyun swallows the cruelty and cries gathering at the back of his throat. Their eyes hold onto each other in the way that Donghyun hoped their hearts did.
Of course, that’s selfish of him. He knows it. Dongmin made sure he did. You don’t deserve this, he remembers, and it makes him rot.
After all, they ended their sentence with an apology, said their farewells with a petition, and drank the remaining acid on the way out. It’s no wonder that Donghyun’s innards are dissolving all over the place.
“Do you—” Donghyun tries, but a wave of nausea hits him. He swallows again, resting his tongue against his palate. He picks apart what he wants to say bit by bit, meticulously constructing the sentence into something that doesn’t taste like gunpowder.
Or so, Donghyun tries. There’s no way this won’t have us bleeding, he thinks. Ultimately, he asks it just the way it is.
“Can you take me home?”
He hears the shocks before he sees it, Dongmin’s body going rigid as he sharply inhales. Dongmin acts like Donghyun just stabbed him in the back when they’re facing each other, and it makes him even more sick. But, quite undeservingly, Donghyun understands. The four-letter word meant someone to them before they drifted, not someplace.
As they linger, with Donghyun struggling to force his body to move, he notices Dongmin trying to recompose himself, considering whether he has the right to ask him for his hand or not. Being there with him is more than what they agreed upon the last time they saw each other.
Less of a friend but more than a stranger.
The limbo between knowing and not knowing. This day has yet to begin, but it’s already brimming with ironies.
“Donghyun-ah,” Dongmin starts, his voice warm and distant at the same time. The smell of antiseptic is making Donghyun’s lungs hurt, but he pays no mind to it. There is another organ hurting more, but he ignores that too. His lungs will have to wait.
“Of course, I’ll take you home.”
He says it so easily, and Donghyun smiles weakly.
“Do you know where home is?”
Donghyun speaks before his mind could do anything. Immediately, he recognizes what he just said. Cruel. Cold. Cuts through the silence like a samurai sword. Donghyun didn’t mean to ask that question, the bitterness sliding across the white tiles between them. It just slipped out, catching them both off-guard. The question, a rotting blade, may have been directed at Dongmin, who is now gasping for air like someone just punctured his lungs, but it seems to Donghyun that it is a double-edged weapon. He hurt himself by hurting Dongmin. There is nothing new about that, to say the least.
However, Donghyun doesn’t dare speak up, doesn’t want to apologize for what his mouth spat out. Throw out the trash, his grandmother told him one too many times when he was younger. Don’t let it stink up your house.
Dongmin opens his mouth to say something when a nurse approaches, a clipboard in hand. She makes Dongmin sign something and leaves abruptly. While watching, Donghyun can feel the lethargy on his back, weighing down again. His body hurts all over, and he just wants to sleep for a whole week.
“Let’s go, Donghyun-ah.”
Dongmin says as he offers his hand. Donghyun looks up at him quizzically, trying to see if there is any guilt or regret in Dongmin’s eyes. There is, but Dongmin is quick to push it down and away from Donghyun's prying eyes. Tiredly, Donghyun reaches out, holding on to Dongmin’s wrist as he pulls himself up, and anchors himself as his hand slides downward. Dongmin’s hand, something that Donghyun used to be so familiar with, feels foreign against his own now. The warmth is strange, and yet he still remains soft around the edges.
He hates this. He hates it.
Deep down, however, he knows that more than holding Dongmin, he hates how he’s hungry for more of it. Of him.
As he shifts to stand upright and maintain balance, Dongmin steps closer. His grasp on Donghyun’s hand is firm. Momentarily, it almost feels as if they were back to what they were. Then, he lets go of Donghyun’s hand, winds his arm around his waist, and pulls him closer. This forces Donghyun to lean against Dongmin, with their sides pressed against each other. Donghyun almost steps on his heart on the floor.
“I know where it is,” Dongmin whispers, grief dripping from his lips and landing on Donghyun’s skin. “Don’t worry.” He adds as he carefully steps, watching if Donghyun can match his actions.
Donghyun does, and they move forward. Dongmin is carrying most of Donghyun’s weight, and Donghyun can’t help but feel guilty.
“I’m not worried, you know,” Donghyun claims.
“I know.”
“It’s just—”
A pause. They’re halfway out of the emergency room.
“I’m sorry. For dragging you here.”
“It’s fine. You should be sorry for worrying me.”
“You were worried?”
The surprise in Donghyun’s voice is genuine, and it almost sounded as if he wasn’t in an accident just minutes ago. He strains his neck to see Dongmin’s expression.
“Of course, idiot. You’re my friend.”
Friend. Right. Donghyun looks down at his heavy feet.
“Right.”
“I thought you died, Donghyun.”
Then, silence. Their eyes never meet again. Before they know it, they’re already right by the exit of the hospital. In fear of dragging out the silence, Donghyun speaks up.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology apparently triggers something in Dongmin.
“What were you doing riding a fucking bike at three in the morning?”
Something hangs in the air. Donghyun thinks that if he looks up, he might see a blade hanging above him.
“Donghyun-ah, what were you thinking?”
Donghyun raises his head and sees that they’re standing outside the hospital now, a couple of feet into the parking lot.
“I just wanted to try something new, I guess.”
Dongmin is mad. Donghyun can feel it. With the way Dongmin’s hand is shaking and his arm tensing around his bruised abdomen, Donghyun knows that the other boy is sincerely angry. Despite not wanting to, Donghyun knows Dongmin best—still.
“You’re such an idiot. I told you before that you shouldn’t ride that goddamn bike at night. And on a fucking highway, too? Do you have a death wish, Kim Donghyun?”
This makes Donghyun vomit—and he does. Violently. With all the words that he tried to hold in, all the pain and heartbreak that he tried to keep hidden.
“I figured that if I did what you told me not to do, I can move on!”
Donghyun shouts angrily, with the energy that someone from an accident shouldn’t have.
“I figured, oh, I don’t know, that if I disobey something you said, I’ll be able to live my life the way I want it to. Away from you.” Donghyun continues as he feels his body ache, the warmth against Dongmin keeping him grounded. “But now, here I am. I know I’m an idiot, and maybe I do have a death wish. I’m sorry, Dongmin-ah, but I just had to, alright? I need to prove that you aren’t my voice of reason, but apparently, you are. You still are because here I am with you right in front of a fucking hospital, because I did something you specifically told me not to do!”
Dongmin remains silent. Donghyun breathes out his last.
“It’s fucking funny how in my attempt to prove that I can live my life away from you, without you, I end up right back in your arms.”
The silence is loud and stifling. Donghyun almost regrets letting go of his words if not for the way Dongmin held him a millimeter closer, a fraction tighter. It is almost as if Dongmin is holding Donghyun together, afraid that if he lets go even for just a second, Donghyun might break into a million pieces right in front of him.
Donghyun can’t blame him, though. Even he knows he might’ve shattered into shards and turned into dust if not for the arm keeping him steady.
“I—” Dongmin starts and ends. In desperation, Donghyun gathers the guts he needs and turn to meet Dongmin's eyes. He’s startled to see Dongmin looking back at him already.
As he watches closely, Donghyun notices Dongmin biting the insides of his cheek. His head is pounding louder than ever, but he ignores it. A sick part of him wants to see Dongmin struggle to find the words, the right words, if there were any, to say in such a wordless situation. Selfishly, Donghyun has accepted that he finds ease in seeing that he is not alone in his hurt and heartbreak.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Donghyun’s voice is stern, tired but determined. His body is getting heavier by the minute, but all his attention is still directed to the way Dongmin is still holding him tightly.
“But, Donghyun-ah—”
“You made it clear before that you had nothing to say to me anymore.”
That does it—the final nail in the coffin.
How people who used to love each other so much find salvation after damning themselves the way he and Dongmin did, Donghyun doesn’t know; quite frankly, he’s fine with that.
He pictures them both bleeding on the floor, bruised and battered like a couple of sacrificial lambs. Donghyun has managed being by himself before, and he can do it again. Even if he has to stare at the blade that stabbed him before. Even if he has to face the monster that dragged him to the ground. Even if he has to act like the boy in front of him didn’t put him through hell.
But that’s the thing: Donghyun can do all those things because despite the pain that Dongmin had put them both through, he knows Dongmin. He knows that Dongmin probably, most likely, has a reason why he had to cut Donghyun off. He knows that he’s not the monster that Donghyun tries to convince himself he is. The Han Dongmin that he knows is soft around the edges, with light seeping through the hard shell that the boy tried to put up. As much as Donghyun wants to hate Dongmin, he just knows, without a doubt, that he can’t.
Visibly, Dongmin gulps hard. Donghyun wonders if he was trying to hold back an apology or an accusation. Truthfully, he wishes he didn’t wonder that. Knowing Dongmin, Donghyun already has his answer. After years of loving and losing to the boy holding him up, he knows Dongmin well enough to see the cross that he is also carrying on his back.
This is why they ended up where they are right now. This is why they found it okay, one way or another, to not be okay. This is why, after everything they had shared, they found the conviction to rip themselves apart and away from each other.
“You know I didn’t mean that, Donghyun-ah.”
He barely hears the words, but he feels them against his skin. Through Dongmin’s clothes, each syllable slithers from the boy’s chest towards the skin on his arm like some parasite latching onto the other living thing it could find. He wants to point out the poison in Dongmin’s words, reminding him that he is not the saint that he thought he might’ve been, but he can’t. Donghyun, despite the anger in his stomach turning his insides green and rotten, knows that Dongmin, no matter how hurtful his words and silences were, remains to be this spirit, a messenger of God, that haunts his every dream.
Waking and asleep, he sees him. Willing or not, he knows him.
So Donghyun surrenders as he swallows his pride.
“I know, Dongmin-ah. I’m sorry.”
The wind blows hard, and suddenly Donghyun shivers in Dongmin’s arms, forcing them to tear their eyes away from each other. He remembers that they’re standing outside the emergency room, in front of the hospital, and under the harsh fluorescent light. From a distance, he can hear cars driving. The hospital did not give him a change of clothes, so he is still in his hoodie and sweatpants. Ripped around the edges with holes here and there, it does nothing to keep him from the cold. It is in this realization that he is grateful for Dongmin’s warmth.
As Donghyun takes a deep breath, he waits for the other boy to say something. The silence lingers a second too long, and he can feel his eyes dropping. Apparently, Dongmin notices it too.
“Do you have a roommate?” He asks, pulling Donghyun closer as they begin to walk towards the Dongmin’s car in the parking lot.
“Riwoo hyung,” Donghyun mutters, “but he’s out of town.”
“So, there’s no one?”
There is something in the way Dongmin said the words that has Donghyun wanting to cry all of a sudden, but he holds his tears back. For a moment, he misses his mother and older sister. He misses being a child, innocent and not ignorant. He misses having his heart guarded by the world because children are often raised cushioned in case someone with thorns for arms comes asking for a hug.
So, instead of pitifully responding out loud, Donghyun just shakes his head. Their footsteps are heavy, with Donghyun slightly having to drag his other foot. He hears Dongmin sigh, and time stands still once again for the two of them. It is not as suffocating, but the pressure is unrelenting around Donghyun’s throat as his pulse becomes audible.
“Right. Well.”
Dongmin clears his throat. Donghyun fights the desire to look at him. Out of nowhere, there is a guilt growing in Donghyun’s chest after he realizes the time. It’s probably around four in the morning, maybe five. Dongmin probably has class later, and yet here he is, carrying the weight of Donghyun’s idiocy like it’s his own.
“You can just leave me there, you know. I can take care of myself.”
The last bit of his sentence tastes bitter, but he spits it out effortlessly. Dongmin, however, knows him better.
“The doctor said—”
“It’s fine. Don’t you have class later?”
Dongmin goes rigid but softens after catching himself.
“I do, but I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.”
“Donghyun, I—”
Unexpectedly, Donghyun reaches out to grasp Dongmin’s wrist, fingers wrapping around his pulse.
“Dongmin-ah. You can.”
Donghyun didn’t really mean to, but he sounded desperate. He knows for a fact that Dongmin can do it, but honestly, he doesn’t want him to. Deep down, there is still a spark staying strong, holding on through the rough winds that softly calls out a name like a covenant.
“Donghyun-ah.” Dongmin squeaks, and it feels like the universe has made room for the two of them again. Donghyun turns to look at the other boy, still close yet so far, and waits. Dongmin looks like he has a lot to say, a missile waiting to be launched when given the signal. If he looks closely, Donghyun can see that his name is etched somewhere in the back of Dongmin’s mind as well.
A second passes, and they continue to hang. To other people, they probably look ridiculous standing in the middle of the parking lot. To them, however, it doesn’t matter.
Because at that moment, Donghyun is pulled back to the time when he called Dongmin his, back to the place where they knew that what they had was once-in-a-lifetime.
In Dongmin’s arms, soul weary and exhausted, Donghyun allows himself to think that maybe, just maybe, he can find the heart to forgive—not just the boy who broke his heart but himself as well.
But before he can say a litany of pleas, Dongmin breaks the moment as he speaks.
“Donghyun,” he repeats, “do you want to have breakfast at my place instead?”
Less of a friend but more than a stranger—Donghyun reminds himself as something akin to hope tugs at his stomach. It’s just breakfast that Dongmin is asking for. At his place. His new place, a home built away from his previous one with Donghyun.
There is nothing to it, really, or so he tells himself.
When it comes down to it, if Donghyun is being frank, whatever Dongmin does is everything. So, again, with him succumbing to every ache deep inside his bones, Donghyun responds.
“Sure.”
They arrive at Dongmin’s apartment complex by five in the morning. The skies are still dark, but the breeze kisses them awake like the morning sun. Donghyun musters up all the courage he has left and steps into the elevator, standing right beside Dongmin, who continues to hold him in his arm just in case he falls down. For a moment, he gets the urge to pretend to fall just to see if Dongmin will catch him, but he pushes the thought aside for the sake of his ego.
He knows that he’ll catch him. Who does he think Dongmin is?
As they reach Dongmin’s floor, however, the boy gently places his hand against Donghyun’s lower back and guides him, their pace slow and steady. He admits to himself that his heart fluttered at the voluntary gesture. Opening the door, Dongmin leads Donghyun immediately to the dining area, with only the glow of what seems to be the bedroom light illuminating the small space. Dongmin didn’t even bother asking Donghyun to take his shoes off.
The minute Donghyun is seated, he already regrets agreeing to be there.
“Let me turn on the light.”
Dongmin leaves him for a while, and Donghyun feels like he’s in some sort of nightmare. The smell of his old laundry detergent is strong, and it reminds him of all the times they used to jokingly fight over having to do their laundry together. Looking around, he notices the bareness of the space, with a couple of boxes here and there. It has been weeks since they separated, so the sight of moving boxes surprises him.
“Oh.”
Donghyun turns to look at Dongmin and sees that he is already looking at him.
“I didn’t have time to unpack those yet.”
He’s lying through his teeth, Donghyun tells himself. He knows Dongmin the best, after all, even after their falling out.
“Right.”
He watches Dongmin walk hurriedly to his refrigerator, looks up and down, and begins pulling out some containers filled with what looks like fried rice and sweet-and-sour pork. Donghyun raises his eyebrows at this as he vaguely remembers the same food in his own refrigerator back home. The instant Dongmin sees his expression, he blushes.
“Your mother—”
“I figured.”
The grief feels like a noose around his neck, so Donghyun continues.
“I haven’t told her yet. I forgot.”
“I figured,” Dongmin parrots. “Don’t worry, I told her that I was only dorming here for college.”
Donghyun hums, and this marks the end of another strained conversation. Sighing, Dongmin moves again and begins heating up the food in the microwave. The soft whirring of the device thankfully fills the dead air between them, but it isn’t enough.
“So,” Donghyun clears his throat as he straightens his aching back, “how have you been?”
Dongmin stares openly at him, his lips slightly open, before he manages to compose himself.
“I’ve been alright, I guess.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Silence. Again. Fuck.
“Have you told your little sister about—”
“No, I haven’t. You?”
Donghyun shakes his head. “I haven’t told anyone except Riwoo hyung.”
“Me too. I only told Jaehyun hyung, so I bet they’ve talked about it.”
“I’m sure they did.”
Another lull, another pull at the rope around Donghyun’s neck.
“Are you—”
“Donghyun-ah, you don’t have to keep on talking, you know.”
“Isn’t that why we ended up like this?”
Without hesitation, Donghyun bites his tongue. He blames his loose mouth on the drugs the doctor gave him, but in reality, he’s well aware that he’s only speaking his truth. Something that he should’ve done weeks ago. Instead of pacifying himself to keep Dongmin from hurting, he should’ve spoken, communicated, and hurt the other boy just as much as he hurt him.
“You’re right.” Dongmin sighs as the microwave rings. He turns to take out the heated-up food, sets them right in front of Donghyun, brings out dining utensils for two along with plates, and takes a seat right across from him. Almost robotically, Donghyun watches as Dongmin begins serving him heaps of fried rice and the viand first before putting anything on his plate. As Dongmin pushes the plate toward him, their eyes meet.
Donghyun feels a blade press against the center of his chest as he sees the tears in Dongmin’s eyes.
“Dongmin-ah.”
“Eat up, Donghyun-ah.”
“Dongmin, I’m so—”
Dongmin shakes his head as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Donghyun, please. Just eat.”
“I’m sorry, Dongmin-ah. I didn’t mean it.”
Out of nowhere, Dongmin slams his palms on the table as the tears begin flowing uncontrollably.
“Well, I wish you did, Donghyun! I wish you did mean it.”
Donghyun remains silent as Dongmin heaves out the words, gaze heavy and almost beaten.
“Why did you… I wish you made it hurt more, you know? This is all my fault, right? I made you do this, and I know it. You told me, and I knew it.”
“Dongmin-ah, no—”
“And here you are again, trying to take all the blame! Why, Donghyun? Why? Why do you have to take every pain and keep it to yourself? You never want me to hurt, so you just take and take until it breaks you. Until I break you. It’s so unfair, and I’m so cruel, I know I am. For putting you in this position. I can’t sleep ever since we ended, Donghyun-ah. Every time I close my eyes, I see you smiling as I said goodbye and I see you smiling as I left you behind and, God, I see you smiling when I told you that we should break up. You only smiled and accepted everything I offered no matter how shitty it was, and I never even got to hear you say what you want. You just smiled and told me that I’m enough, but I’m not, Donghyun-ah, I swear, I’m not enough. I want to give you the world, but you think of me as the world, and I’ve given you everything I am, but you deserve more, and you never asked me for more, and it—”
Dongmin takes a deep breath as Donghyun lets out his.
“I love you, Donghyun-ah. I still do. I broke your heart, and I know that. I deserve hell for that, but even now you take back every awful thing you say because you never want to hurt me, don’t you? I love you for that, but God, you can’t do that to yourself. You’re too selfless for your own good, and I’m so fucking selfish. You deserve better, and I don’t know if I can give you that. You don’t deserve this.”
Dongmin motions at himself as he continues.
“I kept on leeching off of you, and you just kept on giving. I hurt you to make you see how horrible I had been, but you just. You just smiled. You just fucking smiled even after I made you bleed, and I realized that you had been bleeding ever since, and it was because of me, and I fucking hate myself for breaking your heart, and I hope that you hate me too because I can finally get what I deserve.”
“I don’t hate you, Dongmin-ah.”
There is a minute of quiet that forces the two of them to look, truly look, into each other’s eyes and see just exactly what they did to each other. Donghyun has always looked at Dongmin like he hung the stars in the night sky, but now, with tears and snot painting a mess on his face, Dongmin looks more human to him.
And this makes him realize that, after all this time, this is what they should’ve done.
“I don’t hate you,” Donghyun says again, “and I love you still. And I’m sorry, but I swear to all that I am that you are enough.”
He wants to take out his heart from his rib cage and let it bleed on the table right in front of Dongmin, so he does.
“I love you so much, Dongmin-ah. I love you, and that’s why I let you go. I love you, and that’s why I kept giving you everything you wanted. I love you, and that’s why I kept on taking all that pain and never letting you know. I love you, and that’s why I knew that you were enough. I love you, and that’s why I thought I could carry the world, our world, on my back. This is the love I know. The love I grew up with, and I’m sorry that I never asked you if you wanted to be loved like this.”
Donghyun hears Dongmin sniff, so he goes on.
“I love you too much to not let you go, you know. That’s why I just let you. I can never say no to you. I love you like that.”
He always knew that Dongmin is a martyr, a saint who is not afraid to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of everyone else. He had witnessed the boy giving and giving, never stopping and never not loving. Donghyun should’ve figured out earlier that they broke up not for selfish pursuits but because of their own selfless intentions. They lost each other in an attempt to give each other what they believed the other deserved. To Dongmin, he let Donghyun choose for himself. To Donghyun, he only let Dongmin do what he wanted.
He feels foolish only realizing that now, when they are about to eat breakfast at five in the morning. From outside the small kitchen window, Donghyun begins to hear more cars driving on the street. As soon as he comprehends what he just heard, he also realizes that Dongmin has class in less than two hours. He knows this because he still has a copy of the boy’s schedule up on his corkboard, something that he stares at way too often as he pictured Dongmin going about his day.
“Dongmin-ah.”
Donghyun watches as Dongmin begins wiping his face with the sleeve of his top. His heart clenches at this sight, and he decides to pull out the handkerchief he knows he has in his back pocket. Reaching out, he offers it to Dongmin who openly stares at it for a minute before looking back up to meet his eyes.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
After wiping his eyes and nose, Dongmin looks at him again. Down at his untouched food. Sighs. “We should finish eating.” Takes his own cutlery. Begins eating.
“Did you hear what I said, Dongmin-ah?” Donghyun whispers despite his stomach grumbling. He needs to know now. Before it’s too late again.
In a breath, Dongmin replies. “Of course, I did.” Donghyun stalls as he observes the rise and fall of Dongmin’s chest. “And I know. I knew. I’ve always known.” Dongmin continues as his eyes wander everywhere but Donghyun.
“And you love me.”
Finally, Dongmin looks up at him and musters a sad but sincere smile. “Yes, I do.”
“So, why?”
Donghyun knows that Dongmin already said his piece, but he needs to hear it again. Even if it’s just one word in answer to all of his questions, Donghyun needs to hear it.
“Because I didn’t think I deserve the love that you kept on giving me.”
There it is.
The crux of their downfall.
The silence that tore them apart.
The hell that they both put themselves through.
Donghyun tries to find the words but fails. He wants to tell Dongmin that he does deserve it, but he knows that they’ll only go in circles again. He wants to show Dongmin just how worthy he is of his love, but he fears that it’ll be too much. Despite knowing each other like the back of their hands, Donghyun knows that they’re back to square one—only this time, they know that it can’t be the same as last time. He will not allow it. He will make sure they don’t end up back where they are now.
Looking at his plate, he realizes that there is really just one thing he can do, one question he can ask. After all, there has to be a reason why that black Range Rover hit him, why his emergency contact is still Dongmin, and why, for whatever reason, Dongmin took him back to his place.
So, without prolonging the wait, he speaks.
“Dongmin-ah.”
Their eyes meet.
Everything feels as if they are falling back into place again.
“I love you.”
One of them holds his breath, the other wears his heart on his sleeve.
“Do you think we can try again?”
Someone stills. Someone smiles. Both of them do.
A missing heart, no longer missing, finds home.
A bruised hand, aching, finds another.
The aroma of fried rice and sweet-and-sour pork continues to fill the dining area as the sun rises from the East, peeking through the window by the living room. Dongmin whispers a response, his voice sounding more like an embrace, and their universe expands as the Earth keeps spinning.
This is how Donghyun learns that moving on can sometimes mean being in a rough ride and ending up in the emergency room.
This is where Donghyun learns that moving on can sometimes mean going back and fixing everything.
This is why Donghyun learns that moving on can mean being back in Dongmin’s arms.
There are days, or small moments, to be oddly and unnecessarily specific, when Donghyun thinks the universe is playing sick and twisted games with him. Especially when he had already been through enough of its sick and twisted games.
There are also days when Donghyun thinks the universe is giving him something: a chance, a lifeline, an infinity, a sliver of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel, a pair of scissors to cut the rope around his neck, a heartbeat and a voice to set things straight.
Such days—mornings, to be oddly and unnecessarily specific—exist, it seems, for a single purpose: to remind Donghyun that everything, even him, can heal.