Archive of Our Own

​

To Kim Juhoon, Martin had always been more than just a person, he was an entire atmosphere, a vast and encompassing presence that you could live inside. When Martin laughed, it felt like a ray of sunlight that rolled over a cold valley. When he held Juhoon’s hands, his palms were always a few degrees warmer than the rest of the room, like a steady localized summer.

​They lived in a small cozy house where the sun cast thin golden rays over the floor and the kitchen counter was perpetually stained with coffee rings every moment of the day. If Juhoon stayed up too late practicing piano, straining his wrists until they ached, Martin would appear from their bedroom without a word. He wouldn’t tell Juhoon to stop, instead he would just slide his hands over Juhoon’s shoulders and press his thumbs into the tight knots of his shoulder blades and then he would lean down to rest his chin in the crook of Juhoon’s neck.

“Time to rest, genius.” Martin would murmur, his breath tickling Juhoon’s skin and ​Juhoon would tilt his head back, giggling before catching Martin’s lips in a lazy, slow kiss. ​Juhoon held Martin’s cheeks in his hand and lowered his head before showering a frenzy of smooches all over his cheeks. Martin would laugh loudly, and that single sound was enough for Juhoon’s heart to be filled with certainty. 

When Juhoon wanted to give up on playing piano, Martin was the one who lifted him up from the slump. He watched him play, sang with him and complimented him until Juhoon was a blushing mess. And after all this, Juhoon was finally living his dream of being a piano teacher, spending time with kids as he taught them with all his soul.

One day as they were having dinner, Juhoon shared all the things that happened today. “You know when you came to pick me up today one of my students rushed to me and asked ‘seonsaengnim, who is that handsome oppa you always go home with? Is he your boyfriend?’” Juhoon said while also imitating the girl’s voice. Martin almost choked at the way Juhoon’s voice went so high pitched. 

“And what did you say hmm? Did you say yes?” Martin asked with a teasing glint in his eyes. He always loved watching Juhoon getting all shy around him even though they’ve been dating for five years now.

Juhoon cleared his throat and straightened his posture as he spoke. “No, I just told her you were my driver.” 

Martin covered his mouth with his palm as he let out a fake dramatic gasp, pretending to be really hurt by the answer. “You’re such a heartless person.” Juhoon began to laugh at his boyfriend’s absolutely bad acting, giving him a thumbs down. ‘booooo’ 

“But seriously though, did you really tell her that?” Martin asked again with a pout, trying to look like a sad kicked puppy. Juhoon smiled and kissed his lips once. “Of course!” Juhoon said and Martin’s pout turned to a full blown frown. “I told her that the handsome oppa is my precious boyfriend who is sweeter than sugar and always acts like a fool around me.”

“Oh, My jju, you are the best boyfriend in the whole world.” Martin got up from the chair and went to lift Juhoon in a bridal style, completely ignoring that Juhoon’s mouth was full of rice and he was letting out a muffled ‘put me down you giant.’ But it was always chaotic little moments like these that made their lives blossom. And they hoped that it wouldn’t wither away anytime soon.

But the universe was cruel, and happiness couldn’t last long if fate didn’t have pre-written it for you. And for them, it was as if fate forgot to pick up its pen. 

​Martin’s symptoms started so subtly that Juhoon felt a sickening guilt for not noticing it sooner. When he dropped the porcelain mug or when there was a slight stuttering drag in Martin’s right foot when they walked through the park, and then the tremors. At first Martin joked about it. He blamed it on the third cup of espresso he had or the early morning chill that made everyone’s body shiver. But within six months, the tremor had crawled up his arm like an invisible string that tugged at his muscles.

The time at the doctor’s room was basically like a death sentence being delivered to them by a person that looked too clean to be a grim reaper in Juhoon’s mind. The aggressive white walls of the clinic were like bleach that was meant to scrub away the messy, colorful reality of human lives instead providing a sense of peaceful purity. 

​Martin sat right before the doctor, all the papers scattered around her table were too distracting in his opinion. He was staring at his right hand that lay in his lap, palm up, the thumb twitching against his index finger in an erratic rhythm. ​Apparently the tremor that he made jokes about till yesterday had a name now. It wasn’t just his fucked up sleep schedule or too much espresso, but a disease that felt like a curse. The terminal erosion of his nervous system that would slowly pull the wires out of his walls until the house went entirely dark.

Juhoon sat in the chair right next to him, his hands were clamped between his knees to keep them from shaking worse than Martin’s as he heard the doctor’s voice. Dr. Kyunghee adjusted her glasses, looking down at the folder clutched tightly between her fingers.

“We have the results of Mr. Edwards’ genetic panel.” She said, her voice entirely devoid of the warmth they desperately needed. “You’ve been diagnosed with Juvenile Huntington’s Disease.” Kyunghee didn’t even look at their faces when she lifted her head, instead she stared at the small gap between their shoulders. 

Juhoon’s hand instantly flew to Martin’s knee, gripping the fabric of his trousers. What did she mean by juvenile? That was a word for kids, Martin wasn’t a kid. “I don’t understand.” Juhoon whispered, his voice sounding paper-thin. “But... isn’t that an old person’s disease?”

​”Usually, it manifests later in life.” Kyunghee explained. “But when the genetic mutation, the CAG repeat count is exceptionally high, it triggers early. And because it begins so early, its trajectory is radically different. It is far more aggressive.”

​Martin didn’t speak. He sat perfectly still, his hand vibrating again with that involuntary tremor that had brought them here in the first place. “What do you mean by aggressive?” Martin asked. His voice was steady, too steady, a mask over the abyss.

​Kyunghee sighed, gathering all the words to describe it knowing that it would probably destroy their hopes. “It means the timeline is accelerated. This disease will systematically dismantle your nervous system and the tremors you’re experiencing in your hand will progress to severe rigidity, muscle contractions and loss of balance. Walking, swallowing, and speaking will become increasingly difficult and,” she doctor paused, looking at them both with genuine pity. “Unlike adult-onset, Juvenile HD causes a much faster cognitive decline. Memory loss, confusion, and personality shifts. Within a few short years, Mr. Edwards will require total around-the-clock care.”

​Juhoon felt the blood rush out of his face. In a few years Martin’s brilliant, beautiful mind was going to be erased. “There is a cure right?” Juhoon asked, his fingers tightening on Martin’s knee. “Surgery? Medication? Anything?”

​”We can manage the symptoms with medication and therapy,” She said softly. “But no, there is no permanent cure. We can only slow the descent, not stop it.”

The silence that followed was pin drop. ​Juhoon looked over at Martin but Martin just looked down and joined their hands. Slowly, he turned his left hand over, weaving his fingers through Juhoon’s and squeezing back. “​It’s okay, Juhoon-ah,” Martin whispered, his lips curving into a small fragile lie of a smile. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

⚝

“They’re going to stop working.” Martin whispered as he held Juhoon in his arms, spooning him from behind. “My hands, then my arms and— and I won’t be able to hold you anymore. I won’t be able to lift my arms to put them around you.” A single, fat tear spilled over his eyelashes, cutting a wet path through his face. “How am I supposed to live in a body that won’t let me hold you?”

​”We’ll l find another doctor,” Juhoon said as he slowly rolled around to face him, the words tearing out of his throat in a desperate rush. “We’ll go to the States, there are much more experienced and better doctors, there are new medications every day. I’m sure there’s something that will heal you.”

​Juhoon was begging, he knew he was begging, pleading with whatever cruel god had written his destiny. He pressed his forehead against Martin’s, his shoulders shaking as the first sob finally broke through his chest.

​Juhoon closed his eyes, sliding his arms around Martin's waist, burying his face into the soft fabric of Martin’s shirt and inhaling his scent. He held him with a desperate strength, as if he could physically bind Martin’s soul to his flesh, as if he could stop the disease by sheer force of his will. ​But beneath his cheek he could feel the thudding of Martin’s heart like a clock that had just begun to tick backward.

​The disease was a thief that didn’t steal all at once, it took pieces, small fragile pieces. It took Martin’s ability to play his guitar, it took the steady strength in his arms that used to lift Juhoon off his feet when they hugged, it took his sleep, replacing it with long, agonizing nights where Martin would stare at the dark with his hands shaking. But ​through it all, they tried to maintain their sanctuary. Juhoon became his anchor, wrapping himself around Martin’s trembling frame, kissing the knuckles that were losing their grip on the world and whispering grounding words in his ears.

They were desperately kind to one another, terrified that a single harsh word would waste the precious, melting time they had left. ​But as the months dragged on, Juhoon began to see a terrifying shift in Martin’s eyes. The hazel glow of his gaze was clouding over, getting replaced by a suffocating shame. Martin hated the dependency, he hated the thought of a future where Juhoon would have to feed him, bathe him, look into his eyes and find a hollow shell where his lover used to be.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you Juhoon.” Martin whispered one night, his voice cracking like dry autumn leaves. ​Juhoon had buried his face in Martin’s chest, holding him so tight his own ribs ached. “You could never be a burden to me. Just stay Martin please, just stay. I’ll be there for you through everything.”

Throughout the span of eleven months Martin attended multiple therapy sessions, had an amount of medicines he had never taken in his entire life and ate according to the nutritional plan made by his doctor. For a short period of time, he started to feel better and he had hope that it would last. But it didn’t. Martin would fall back into the symptoms again, and he hated himself when he did. He hated the fact that Juhoon had to keep working, in the school and also in their home just because of him. This wasn’t the life he had dreamed of.

⚝

​Juhoon was trying his hardest to pay attention to his students playing, but his brain felt like lead. He was having this bad feeling in his gut that made him unable to focus on anything. This morning Martin had gone to stay at his mum’s place for the weekend. A brief arrangement so Juhoon could attend the school’s annual program without worrying about leaving Martin alone. The function went smoothly, but during the whole day all he could think about was why Martin hadn’t texted him yet. 

By evening his heart was beating so fast Juhoon thought he might have a panic attack. He tried to call Martin himself, to talk about their day and ask how he was but he didn’t pick up. He called Martin’s mum instead, she said that Martin had slept the whole day and had forgotten to charge his phone. It felt so harsh when he heard those words, Juhoon couldn’t even imagine the things he must be going through. He didn’t want to bother him knowing that most of the nights Martin had such a hard time falling asleep, he wanted him to take as much rest as possible. 

The next morning when Juhoon hadn’t even thought of opening his eyes, his phone on the nightstand began to ring. He groaned and got up irritatingly, rubbing his eyes as he picked it up on the fourth ring. It was Martin’s mum. “Hello, eomma why are you calling so early, is everything okay?”

​But there was no greeting on the other end, only a ragged sob that felt like it shouldn't belong to a human. “Juhoon-ah,” Her voice was that of a woman who had her heart torn out of her chest. Juhoon sat up straight immediately and got out of bed, the remaining sleep behind his eyes vanishing into thin air. “Eomma?”

​”Juhoon, oh god.” she choked out. “Martin—”

Juhoon’s blood ran cold at the mention of his name. All the negative thoughts of ‘what if’ started creeping in his head and that gut wrenching feeling from yesterday came back again. “Eomma what happened— what’s— is Martin okay? what happened?” The words slipped from his lips so frantically he couldn’t keep up with what to say next, he felt like his heart had come up to his throat, blocking every noise that wanted to escape.

​”He’s gone,” she whispered and those two words tore through the phone line like a sharp razor waiting to slash his arteries. “He’s gone, Juhoon-ah. I went to his room to check on him but… he took all the pills… he’s gone.”

​Juhoon’s knees simply ceased to exist the moment he hit the floor, the screen of the phone pressing into his ear so violently it bruised. His brain refused to process that sentence, the words entered his ears but could not find a place to land.

Gone? How could he be gone? Martin was supposed to come home today, they had planned to spend the evening cooking dinner together. Hell, they had a life to live together. 

“No,” Juhoon said, his voice strangely calm like a flat line of total rejection. “No, eomma you’re mistaken. He’s just— he’s just sleeping. I spoke to him yesterday and he told me he loved me forever, he would never leave like this.” 

​”Juhoon-ah, please—”

“No!” Juhoon screamed and voice cracked into a hideous screech. He slammed his phone down on the floor over and over until the screen cracked and the line went dead. He sat there silently, his chest heaving, eyes wide and teary. He felt something weird in his stomach that travelled up to his throat making him wretch. He rushed to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet bowl he threw up, coughing violently. The tears rolled down shamelessly, wetting his cheeks and dropping to the tiles.

No, no, no this wasn’t real, Martin would never do something like this. He’s hearing things, he must have gone mad from the stress, he should go back to sleep or count to ten, anything to forget this horrible reality. 

But Juhoon couldn’t sleep tonight, not a single wink. He stayed up all night staring at the ceiling, hoping, praying, that tomorrow morning Martin would walk through the door, hug him while he made breakfast and apologize on his knees for playing such a stupid prank on him. And then Juhoon would cry in his arms, cussing him out and screaming at him while Martin ran his fingers over his hair to calm him down.

But such things never happened. All he got was a call from Martin’s mum again as she tried her best to maintain her voice while telling him the address of the funeral home. Juhoon looked at the mirror while adjusting his black suit. He looked wrecked. Dark circles under red, bloodshot eyes, messy hair and dry lips. Juhoon didn't look like himself anymore, he felt like a paper cutout of a man that was capable of being torn apart by a stiff breeze. 

⚝

When he arrived at the funeral home, Martin’s mum immediately ran to hug him tightly, they both knew they needed it. ​Around him people were weeping, their shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow from the heavens. They came up to Juhoon, offering broken words of comfort and pressing their wet faces against his shoulder while mumbling words that went along something like, “He’s at peace now Juhoon-ah,” or “He loved you so much.” to which Juhoon could only nod and mumble a ‘thank you for coming’. 

Juhoon walked towards the open casket on legs that didn’t feel like his own. The distance from the doorway to the altar felt like a miles-wide desert, every step requiring an agonizing effort to draw breath and when he finally reached the edge and looked down, his heart did a strange flip against his ribs. 

The casket was too small, that was his primary thought. Martin was taller than that, there was no physical way he could fit inside that wooden box, he must be so scared and suffocating in there. And when he lifted his eyes towards his face, Juhoon felt like his lungs were physically getting strangled by barbed wires. 

Martin looked too neat. His hair, which was usually so wild and fluffy that Juhoon loved to run his fingers through during quiet mornings, had been combed flat. The morticians had applied a layer of cosmetics to his cheeks, trying to paint a flush of peaceful sleep but he wasn’t sleeping. Martin never agreed to wear suits unless it was a very important event they had to attend, but here he was, laid in a black tuxedo. Martin had never felt this quiet, he had never looked so peaceful. 

Trembling, Juhoon reached over the satin lining and took Martin’s right hand, and ​the moment their skin met, a shiver ripped through Juhoon’s entire body. He held Martin’s hand and it was so cold. No, it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him. Martin’s hands were never cold. He used to wrap those large, burning hands around Juhoon’s frozen ones during winter nights and he would whisper, “Let me thaw you out Juhoon-ah.”

​Now, holding this hand was like pressing his palm against a sculpture made of ice.

“Martin,” Juhoon whispered, his name scraped against his throat like broken glass. He squeezed those unyielding fingers, desperately trying to pour his own body heat into the corpse, praying for the tiniest spark, a cosmic glitch that could bring him back. “Please, just a little bit, be warm for me, Martin just once.” ​But his hand remained heavy and freezing. The fire was completely out.

Slowly, with a heavy stone in his heart, Juhoon placed his hand back. He didn’t want to let go, not so soon. But holding on meant having expectations, and sometimes you’re left disappointed. 

Suddenly, Juhoon felt an arm on his shoulder. “I know how you feel Juhoon-ah.” It was Martin’s mum. She looked down at her son, tears filling her eyes as her lips pursed into a thin line. Juhoon cannot even lift his head, afraid that if he looked away Martin would disappear for eternity this time. 

“When his father passed away,” She continued again, “The only wish I had was that I won’t have to see anyone else going through the same pain.” She then turns to face him, her thumb brushing away a tear that had made its way down Juhoon’s cheek. “But now when I look at you, I feel like I was sent back to that same day. I see myself in you right now.”

​Juhoon nodded mechanically, his lips forming polite, empty shapes. But inside the denial was screaming and clawing at the walls of his skull. This isn’t real. The voice in his head echoed. I’m still in that dream, Martin is alive. 

​He’s at the apartment, Juhoon thought with a manic, desperate certainty that bloomed in his chest. He’s sitting at our kitchen table having his daily coffee, and I'm sleeping in our bed. This is all a bad dream and Martin will come over to wake me up from this nightmare with a kiss. This isn't him. This is a stranger’s funeral.

He was shaken back to reality when they announced it was time to close the casket, and Juhoon had never felt this empty before. For the last time, he let his fingers touch Martin's face, tracing lines over the face of the man he had loved for the past six years. Ugly sobs shook his entire body as the lid went down and the casket was shut. 

The transition to the cemetery happened in a blurred montage. The only things Juhoon remembered were the weight of black coats pressing against him, the muffled sounds of Martin’s mum sobbing in her hand and the sea of black umbrellas that opened as miserable rain began to fall.

​Juhoon stood at the very lip of the open grave. The manic denial that had carried him through yesterday was beginning to fracture, leaving behind a bleeding void. ​He watched the pallbearers lift the box, and a voice screamed inside Juhoon’s head hysterically ‘That’s him, that’s your lover, your laughter that they’re going to put it all in the dirt.’

​As the casket began its slow descent into the rectangular wound of the earth, the finality of it hit Juhoon like a physical blow to the sternum. The dull thud of the wood settling into the mud at the bottom was the loudest and the most terrifying sound he had ever heard, a definitive end to the only happiness he had ever known.

​Martin’s mum came over and handed him a single white rose. His fingers closed around the stem, the thorns biting into his palm until tiny dots of red welled up, but he couldn’t feel it. He walked to the edge and let the flower drop over the lid, biting his lips before he whispered “I will always love you.”

The sound of shovelling began to fill his ears, dirt pooled over, burying the roses and soon the casket. Juhoon’s eyes stayed fixed on the shovel that threw dirt over the place his lover was resting, over his dreams and his future that was now being buried six feet deep inside the earth. It only felt like seconds when the ground began to even and the hole was completely filled. 

​Juhoon took a step forward, his hand reaching out toward the grave instinctively, his fingers twitching to open up the casket and pull him out of the dirt. He wanted to scream at them, to dig him back up, to give him back his sky but no sound came out. His throat was a desert. ​He stood there until the mourners started to leave one by one, drenching under the cold water. 

​

⚝

The silence was killing him on the drive back home. Martin’s mum didn’t dare to utter a single word, scared that if she even moved her lips a heart wrenching sob would escape. Her eyes were smudged with mascara, and her face had an expression of a person that had witnessed every horrors of the world. Juhoon looked out of the window, at the small droplets of water that rolled down the glass. If Martin was here, he would’ve collected those droplets in his palms and sprinkled them on Juhoon’s face just to hear his irritated whine.

​

“...hoon?”

“Juhoon!” Martin’s mum tapped his shoulder, breaking him away from his trance. “We’re here.” She said, pointing to the front door of their house. Juhoon nodded, then slowly he pushed the passenger door open, stepping outside as the rain now poured over his suit, over his hair and over his tear stained face. Juhoon stood frozen by the door for a moment, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking.

Martin’s mum then stepped outside. Before she went to Juhoon, she went to the backseat, reaching out for a box she had kept there. Juhoon stared at the box as she handed it out to him. “I found this at his table,” She began, inhaling a deep breath to keep her voice from shaking, “I figured it must be for you.” She said as Juhoon held the box. It felt like a block of ice in his palms.

He didn’t say thank you, couldn't form the syllables. He let out a weak smile and bowed before turning around but her voice made his head look back again. “Juhoon, please take care of yourself hmm?” She said with so much sincerity that Juhoon felt tears prick his eyes again but before they could gather and fall he managed a small, “You too.” and went to unlock the door. 

⚝

For a whole hour Juhoon didn’t move from where he was sitting. On the cold floor of their bedroom, with his knees pulled to his chest. It was so strange, as if Martin never left, because he still occupied more than fifty percent of this house. His cup was still in their kitchen cupboard right next to Juhoon’s, his clothes still scattered messily on the floor and their closet, his laughter still ringing in Juhoon’s ear, and his voice— god his voice— still murmuring like a faint whisper in his head. 

With empty eyes he scanned the whole room until his gaze reached the box his mum had given. He doesn’t have the heart to open it yet, not now. He just takes it in his hands and hugs the box tightly against his chest, his tears falling down and dampening the cardboard. 

​Juhoon didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t go outside. He took a two weeks leave from the school, hoping that time would eventually put himself together, sew the pieces of himself that were scattered all over like torn paper. 

He moved like a ghost through his own life, and sometimes the apartment grew cold because he forgot to turn on the heating. 

​Two weeks passed like a second. He doesn’t even recall anything he did on those fourteen days except crying and forcing himself to do chores. On the fifteenth day he woke up and got dressed for work. He would zone out without even meaning to until one of the students tapped him or waved their small hands in front of his face. And when school ended, his student came up to him asking, “Seonsaengnim, we missed you so much. Are you okay now? The teachers said you were sick and couldn’t come to class.” Her tiny hand came to hold Juhoon’s, “Get well soon okay? We were so worried about you.” 

Juhoon looked down at her face, her brows were furrowed and she had a tiny frown. He smiled and said, “I’m totally fine now because I got to spend time with my lovely students.”

She giggled and was about to leave when she saw her parent’s car coming up. But before she walked, she looked into Juhoon’s face again. “Seonsaengnim, are you going home alone? where is oppa?” 

Juhoon’s heart almost jumped out of his ribs at the question. What was he supposed to answer her? He went dead silent for a minute before a car honked at them, urging the girl to come over quickly. “He’s— just tired, because he had to look after me, you know?”

“Ohh, alright then, bye bye teacher.” She nodded and then ran towards the car, waving her hands. 

When Juhoon reached home, he wasn’t greeted by Martin coming over the door to hug him but the haunting silence that had occupied the space. He took off his shoes, peeled off his uniform blazer and went straight to the kitchen to pour himself a cold glass of water. The countertop was still stained with rings of coffee, the stubborn stain that never wanted to go away. 

Juhoon got lost in his thoughts as he chugged the whole glass in one sitting, leaving it in the sink as he walked towards his room. It was a mess, just like his head. He hadn’t bothered to put away stuff and clean it. He also spotted the box Martin’s mum had given him, sitting calmly over his table. He still hadn’t opened it. 

He was curious to see what was inside but also scared, that if he saw it he would burst out crying again. But how long could he hold himself back? 

Juhoon walked towards his table, pulling out the chair to sit as he brought the box near him. With trembling fingers, he slowly lifted the cover, and as he had thought, his eyes began to prick uncomfortably. “Oh, Martin.”

Inside lay dozens of envelopes, but also there were Martin’s belongings too. His rings, bracelets, lockets and at the corner there were several polaroids of them. The smell of his perfume wafted through the dusty air and for a terrifying, beautiful second, Juhoon thought he was in the room.

He covered his mouth with the palm of his hand, the other one going to pick up a polaroid. It was a picture from last year, when they went to New Zealand for a vacation. They were so happy back then. He placed it back to where it was then picked up the envelope on the top. He lifted the flap, then pulled out the paper inside, unfolding it to see Martin’s handwriting. 

​Juhoon-ah,

​By the time you read this, I won’t be there anymore. But, I need you to know that I did what I did for us, for you. I’m writing this because I want to say the things that I couldn’t when I was alive. My hands are trembling harder than before, but I will continue to write until my fingers can hold a pen. 

​Do you remember the night you lost the piano competition three years ago? You sat on the cold floor and cried until your voice was almost gone. You had prepared so hard for weeks and you told me you were a failure for not performing well. You said you didn’t want to play anymore, that you don’t deserve the piano. I didn’t tell you it was going to be okay because I knew your heart needed to bleed a little first. But I need you to understand now what I couldn’t say back then. Failure isn’t a grave my love, it’s just the soil. It’s an ugly and place where your roots have to dig deeper so you can grow taller. You played with so much soul that night the judges were simply too small to contain it. Your melodies were the only thing that kept me going through those dark days Juhoon-ah. You look so peaceful when you’re playing and when you turn your head and smile at me for a sweet moment I felt like none of the problems in the world mattered. Never close the piano Juhoon, don’t belittle yourself just because of one time, you are much more than just one failure.

Sincerely, Martin.

​Juhoon dropped the letter on the table, pressing his palms against his eyes as a sob ripped its way out of his throat, loud and unlovely. He cried until his eyes burned, until his chest hurt and he couldn’t breathe anymore. He didn’t open another letter that night, he couldn’t. One letter was enough to bleed him dry.

⚝

Two Months Later

Juhoon was like a hollow man walking around the world. He still couldn’t focus, couldn’t drink, couldn’t eat. He could only think about one person. Time passed so fast Juhoon couldn’t keep a track of it. It feels like yesterday when Martin was right there beside, but now he has spent almost three months without him. 

​The season changed with an agonizing, indifferent slowness. ​Juhoon learned how to function again, but it was just a performance. Martin’s mum would often call to check up on him and they would talk for hours, visit the grave together with a bouquet of white lilies and sit on the grass as they told the stone about everything.

Juhoon only opened the letters when the ghost of Martin became too heavy to carry alone. He rationed them like water in a desert. One night after showering, he went to sit by the window and opened another letter. 

My prettiest boy,

​I watched you sleep this morning, Juhoon-ah. The sunrise was hitting your eyelashes and the moment you woke up and looked directly at me, I realized something entirely ridiculous and cheesy, but I’m writing it down anyway because I’m a dying man and I’m allowed to be a fool. Your eyes are prettier than any star in the universe. Stars are beautiful, but they are dead things burning out billions of miles away from us. But your eyes are alive, they hold the dawn. When you look at me even when my hands shake so badly that I can barely hold anything I don’t feel my sickness or the atrophy. You make me feel whole. You are my gravity, Juhoon-ah and even when I am dust, I will still be pulling toward you.

Yours, Martin.

​Juhoon leaned his head against the windowpane, watching the spring rain smear the city lights into streaks. ​The memory associated with that letter rushed back before his eyes, so bittersweet and agonizing.

​That morning, Martin had woken up unable to move his left leg. He had been terrified, his eyes wide and panicked. Juhoon wrapped his limbs around Martin’s stiff body, rubbing his muscles until Martin finally relaxed, weeping softly into Juhoon’s chest. “Look at me Martin-ah,” Juhoon had whispered, cupping Martin’s face. “You’ll be fine baby, I’m right here.”

Juhoon continued his life. He tried to go back to his old ways, even if the road there was wobbly and rocky. He tried to keep his head light, work, and go out with his friends. He was also learning how to bake now— cookies, bread and sometimes brownies. It helped him stay occupied. But sometimes he would wake up and accidentally make two cups of coffee. “Tin do you wan—” And then he would stop, his head would automatically lower as he took the coffee and poured it down the sink.

There were times the hole of emptiness in his chest returned, and when it did, he would sit by the window and read Martin’s letters. Sometimes he would cry at his words, sometimes he would giggle at his cheesy compliments and sometimes he would start reminiscing those moments he had lived.

Five months later

​The house was different now. Juhoon had painted over the sun-bleached walls after seeing the old paint peeling off. He chose a soft lilac, Martin’s favourite colour. He practiced at least one hour a day, he even smiled at jokes made by his students. Juhoon had folded Martin’s clothes and arranged them neatly on one side of the closet, his shoes clean and kept inside stacks of cardboard boxes in the corner. He was learning how to live without Martin. 

To the outside world, Kim Juhoon had moved on. ​But grief isn’t a straight line, it’s a circle that takes you back to the same point again and again. ​On a quiet afternoon Juhoon took another letter from the box, he sat on the kitchen chair as he began to read.

My Juhoon,

​It takes me almost five minutes to form a single sentence because my hand just won’t stay still so please forgive the ugly scrawl. I feel like a child learning to write for the first time. 

​Yesterday, you brought me coffee. You smiled, your eyes crinkled at the corners, the quiet dawn I love so much, and you handed it to me. And my fingers just... let go. The cup shattered and that hot coffee scalded your bare foot. Do you know what broke my heart the most? It was the fact that you didn’t even flinch, you didn’t get angry. You just immediately dropped to your knees, ignoring your own burned skin, and started picking up the pieces so I wouldn’t step on them. ​I sat in that chair and watched the back of your neck as you cleaned up my mess. I felt like a monster. Love shouldn’t be like this, like an endless exercise in wiping away the wreckage of a failing body. Your hands weren’t meant to spend their years sweeping up my collapses. I’m sorry I made you small. I’m so sorry Juhoon-ah. 

With apologies, Martin.

Juhoon’s body went rigid at the memory. Is this what Martin felt like the whole time he was alive? That he was guilty for something that wasn’t even his fault? He must’ve loathed himself, why would he do that. He didn’t mean it, he would never even think of hurting Juhoon, let alone intentionally. 

When he read those sentences his heart ached because he could physically see Martin’s struggles when he wrote. His neat handwriting slowly turned into wiggly, wild letters, a different landscape on each paper until scribbles filled the space more than his words.

⚝

Spring was on the door now and flowers bloomed in their glory all around. The birds chirped outside his window and it was warm all over. Juhoon made his bed, did the laundry and practiced piano, a schedule he has now memorized like the back of his hand. It has been a month since he last read the letter, not because he didn’t want to, but because he needed time to fix himself before being broken again.

It was late at night when his eyes opened and he was unable to fall asleep again. He dreamt of Martin, them laying in the sanctuary of their bedroom as Martin held him tightly. It was as if all of this had never happened. 

Juhoon took another letter, he wanted to remember Martin again.

​My sweet boy,

​Something terrifying happened today. You were at school and I wanted to cook dinner for us because I knew you would come back exhausted. I stood in the kitchen staring at the drawer, and I couldn’t remember the word for the plastic thing you use to flip eggs, yes, spatula. It took almost fifteen minutes to find the word in the dark closets of my brain. This disease is already coming for my mind.

Baby, I can handle the thought of my body withering away, but what I cannot handle is the thought of waking up one morning, looking at your beautiful, star-filled eyes and asking you who you are. ​I would rather rip my own heart out with my bare hands than see the expression on your face when I forget your name. If I stay until the end, I will erase us. I have to leave while the lights are still on, Juhoon-ah. I have to leave while I still know exactly how much I adore you.

Always, Martin.

⚝

​Juhoon,

​It’s raining tonight, and I’m writing this as you’re sleeping. ​I remember when we got caught in that sudden downpour after our date last month. We didn’t have an umbrella, and my coat was completely soaked through. You took off your leather jacket and draped it over our heads, laughing because my hair looked like a drowned rat. You were so warm, even in the freezing rain.

​I’m writing this because I need to apologize for everything that is coming even if I don't know if you will ever forgive me, love. You were the sole thing that kept my heart steady when everything got too overwhelming. You are my sun, my moon and my constellations. You are the only bright, blazing star in my galaxy. Juhoon-ah, even if I won’t be there, please try to be happy okay? 

Forever, Martin.

Do you think it will get better?

Juhoon questions himself everyday. He wants to move on, because that’s what Martin would’ve wanted. For him to find happiness. But, moving on also meant letting go, and Juhoon doesn’t think he’s ready to let go.

​Baby,

​Do you remember that day when we got bored and dragged ourselves to that open-house viewing? We didn’t have a single penny to our names back then and we couldn’t even afford a doorknob in that place, but we spent two hours walking through those empty rooms, whispering like thieves about where we’d put our things.

We bought a house just like you wanted. Small, with big windows so it can be naturally bright, a small garden right outside where we would water plants together. ​I wanted fifty years in our house. I wanted to see your hair turn gray, I wanted to grow old with you until our skin looked like crumpled paper and we bickered over small stuff. I wanted a lifetime of waking up in the same bed as you. This disease took the next fifty years of my life, it took the old man I was supposed to become with you. I’m so angry Juhoon, that I was only allowed to love you for a fraction of a second of the lifetime I had planned.

  With love, Martin.

This was supposed to be their house, not just his, they had worked so hard for everything. The day they moved in, Martin was the happiest person in this entire world, because he now had a space to share with the only human he loved the most. Their housewarming party was small, but it was one of the best days of their lives. 

​My dearest jju,

​You bought tickets for a concert three weeks from now. You pinned them to the refrigerator with those little cat magnets, smiling so proudly because you managed to get front-row seats. You looked at me and said, “We’ll go together Martin, you'll be feeling better by then, the new meds will kick in.” ​I smiled back and nodded, and I told you I couldn’t wait, and that was the biggest lie of my life.

​I already knew Juhoon. I had already looked at the calendar and picked the date. I knew that by the time that concert happened, the tickets would be sitting on a refrigerator in a house where only one person lived. Watching you plan a future with a dying man a kind of torture I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. You were building castles in the sand and I could already hear the tide coming in, forgive me for letting you build them jju. 

 Sincerely, Martin.

Yes, the tickets were still on his fridge until the day he decided to paint their home. Juhoon didn’t attend it, even when he longed to see Daniel Caesar. What would be the point of going if Martin wasn’t there? 

One Year Later

​Juhoon sat in the golden light of the late afternoon, the final letter resting on his lap. He didn’t cry this time. The tears had run dry somewhere between those agonizing months he spent alone. Instead, a hollow ache settled deep into his bones. He was scared because he knew it was the last of Martin he had. What would he even do after this? Hesitatingly, he took the paper out, the envelope weighed a tiny bit more than usual.

​Love,

​If you are holding this letter don’t be sad anymore. I had a good life, well most of it, because it had you. It’s the last letter I’ll write, my fingers can barely hold onto the pen, they keep slipping. ​I want to tell you a secret. The last night we spent in our bed before I went to my mum’s house, I didn’t sleep for a single second. You were snoring softly. As I lay beside you, I traced the outline of your face with my eyes over and over, memorizing the landscape of the only home I’ve ever known. ​My hand shook so badly it woke you up for a brief moment but You didn’t say a word. You just reached out to hold my trembling wrist and pulled it against your chest, holding it right over your heart until the shaking stopped and you always said “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” ​But I was already falling out of your orbit. I let you hold my hand against your heartbeat, and I silently said goodbye to every beat. And oh, there’s another small pouch inside, go ahead and open it.

Juhoon looked at the envelope then there was a small, velvet pouch inside. He pulled at the string, opening it and his breath caught in his throat. There were two simple silver rings, each engraved with their initials in cursive. Juhoon took them into his palms, lips wobbling the more he stared. He continued reading.

​I bought them two weeks before the Christmas party with our friends and family. I had this grand, ridiculous plan that I was going to wait until night and when the celebrations were over, I would get down on my knees and ask you to give me the rest of your days. But ​I never got to do it. After we visited the clinic, the rings became a weight in my pocket that nearly crushed me. I couldn’t give them to you because marrying me wouldn’t have been a vow of happiness, It would have meant turning my beautiful boy into a full-time nurse before he even turned thirty. ​I wanted to be your husband, Juhoon-ah. I wanted to hear you say 'I do' in front of everyone we loved. I wanted to take your last name. But because I love you more than my own life, I am giving you a different kind of vow instead. I am vowing to get out of your way. Take the rings and throw them away, or keep them in the dark where they belong.

But please, promise me one thing, love, you won’t let your finger stay empty forever. Find someone who can give you the fifty years I owed you. Find someone who can look at you with whole eyes and hold you with steady hands. I will be watching, praying that they will love you half as much as I did. From the moment you said yes to my “I love you.” I realized that I was the luckiest person ever to receive your love. Even though sometimes our relationship was rocky, you never left me. You were the first person I fell for and you’ll also be the last. Thank you for giving me the best six years of my entire life. Even though I’m not with you, please jju, remember that I will always love you.

Love, Martin.

Juhoon put the letter down, his tears soaking up the paper. “You idiot,” He whispered, clutching the rings inside his fist, “Why would I throw it away?”

Juhoon took out one of Martin’s lockets from the box, unclasping the hook and threaded Martin’s ring in. He fastened the clasp behind his neck, tucking the cold silver under his t-shirt. He then took the one with his own initial, “I do, Martin”, he said as he slid the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand until it sat firmly at the base of his finger. He let his tears flow silently, remembering all the years he spent with Martin— the good days, the bad days, and the days where he would hold Martin so tight, afraid that he would slip away like sand between his fingers.

⚝

Days passed and Juhoon told himself was moving on. But as he would watch the sun dip below the buildings from his window, the great, terrifying ‘What If’ would rear its head, as it did on every quiet day.

​What if he hadn’t gone away that day? What if we had stayed in bed and I held him tighter? What if they had found a new treatment a month later? What if our love had been enough to make his body stay whole?

​These questions were like poison that infected him, but they were the only part of Martin he had left to keep him company. Juhoon opened the window, letting the wind rush in and softly blow his hair. ​He closed his eyes and let the memories of a dead man fill the emptiness in his head, knowing he would spend the rest of his life looking up at the sky, wondering if he was looking back.