It's Tuesday afternoon—exactly two days after Jongin's disappearance—and little droplets of rain are knocking on Kyungsoo's bedroom window, pitter-pattering and pitter-pattering by the windowsill. It sounds like little footsteps, Kyungsoo thinks, as he stares at the ceiling. A heavy sigh escapes from his lips as he turns to shift in his bed. As expected, the space beside him is still empty, save from the mess of blankets and the lingering warmth of Jongin's scent on his pillows.

Jongin still hasn't come back.

Kyungsoo sits up groggily. His headache had left him during his slumber and all that remains is a dull gnawing at the back of his head. He thanks the empty packet of pills on his bedside and does a few stretches, which were supposed to be done in the morning, before heading to the shower. He still has to look for Jongin, after all.

But the plans he had for the day end up getting ruined when the rain decides to continue pouring even after he steps out of the shower. It turns into a storm by the time he's finished a cup of coffee and stuffed bread into his mouth. He figures that he can't go out in this weather—there will be no one to ask if they've seen Jongin. He decides to spend the day inside and wait for phone calls, instead.

His house is the aftermath of modernized architecture, concrete walls attached to polished wooden flooring and deprived of anything older than a decade. Almost everything is made of white: the walls, the ceiling, and the furniture—too white that the smallest stain could ruin the whole imageand the absence of a person can make it feel abandoned. Kyungsoo decides to clean the house while waiting for his phone to ring. He finds Jongin's old lighter and a half-empty pack of cigarettes at the very back of his cabinet. He tries to smoke one and then another one until he's emptied the pack as he waits, and waits, and waits for a call. Sooner than enough, the pack of cigarettes in Kyungsoo's hand is emptied; a kingdom of ashes has developed on the wooden floor below him. His hands are shaking and he smells too much of smoke—he smells too much of Jongin. And somewhere along the time he tries to fight a budding cough caught in his throat, he thinks that maybe Jongin feels like this.

He continues to wait. He's sure that he had placed the right phone number and even the promise of a reward on the posters he had spread around the city. Surely, somebody was bound to call soon, but then a new morning rises from the skyline and still, his phone hasn't rang.

So even with a mind muddled with smoke and lack of sleep, Kyungsoo decides to head out to the streets.

Wednesday morning quickly turns into afternoon and then night with Kyungsoo hopelessly looking for Jongin in the latter's neighborhood, and, of course, he doesn't find him. Maybe even after he has searched the entire city, every nook and cranny of every alley, he still wouldn't find Jongin. Somehow, the fact doesn't surprise him anymore. Perhaps it's because he's gotten too used to Jongin's absence that his heart had unknowingly grown a callus, one that only bleeds whenever he tries to get rid of it. Perhaps his whole heart had grown into a callus.

Kyungsoo doesn't take a cab home and decides to walk instead, even if the sky looked like it was going to cry again, and along the way, he finds himself looking up at the myriads of billboards that decorated the city. A particularly damaged one catches his attention; its sides were ripped, making it look like it was ready to fall onto the streets below any minute from now. It's going to be taken down soon, Kyungsoo thinks, and even though its size was too small for his liking, he takes a note to rent the space as soon as possible. He thinks that it'd have to do for the company's first billboard ad.

His eyes eventually travel to the bigger one beside it, probably the biggest in Jongin's neighborhood, and he scoffs. It had nothing but a plain shot of a burning cigarette dud against a white background, black smoke unfurling and morphing into a faceless silhouette of a person crawling for help. Below the cigar were ashes formed together to spell out a screaming: 'SMOKING KILLS' in bold intimidating letters. Kyungsoo doesn't know why he suddenly feels a pang of anger wash through him, flipping over his beliefs and scrubbing him clean of hope like he was a dirty overused shirt. Maybe it's because he thinks that the anti-smoking ad was a waste of huge billboard space, or maybe it's because he thinks that the silhouette resembled too much of Jongin.

So Kyungsoo runs, and runs, and runs as if his life depended on it. He doesn't stop until he passes by a lineup of trees that each had Jongin's face pasted on them. The posters were all wrinkled and tearing off, probably from the rain yesterday; the text and Jongin's face now barely recognizable, but Kyungsoo could still make out the stupid smile on Jongin's face. So he tears them off one by one, crumples them all into this huge fucking ball, and shoots it into the nearest trash can like how he does in the office. And of course, he misses and he cries. For the first time in months, Kyungsoo cries so hard because he fucking misses. He fucking misses Kim Jongin.

His knees plant themselves onto the pavement as he breaks into tears. And as if on cue—as if all of this was part of a drama wherein he's the kicked character—the rain comes pelting down, hard and almost solid against the ground. Kyungsoo cries even harder. He doesn't care if people are starting to stare at him like he's gone mad, and he thinks that maybe he has gone mad because he's starting to believe that the sky is sympathizing with him.

He only starts to care once he feels that he has cried enough, that care only going as far as taking himself inside his own house, shoes squelching and pressing wet footprints against wooden tiles as he makes his way towards his bedroom and collapses onto his bed; a few days' worth of fatigue finally taking its toll on him.

To Kyungsoo, it feels like the first time he's allowed to fall asleep again without a packet of pills and Jongin's warmth beside him.


"Hyung."

It's coming closer. Kyungsoo turns around but sees nothing or no one responsible for the ringing in his ears. He's in a black void, Kyungsoo realizes, as he takes a step back and doesn't feel anything solid beneath his bare feet. He doesn't fall either.

"Hyung!" the disembodied voice screeches, breaking and warping into a piercing cry. Kyungsoo instinctively cowers, hands moving up to cover his ears. But he can still hear even in the makeshift silence—he can hear the echo of shoe heels against concrete tiles, loud and intimidating, and how the high-pitched screaming slowly disappears over the sound of approaching footsteps that only arrive at a full-stop after he stops counting at six.

And then there are cold hands cupping Kyungsoo's cheeks. The touch stings his skin, making him look up only to meet a pair of familiar eyes. He lets out a silent gasp. There's something about the brown eyes staring down at him, gaze obscured by the faint glow of tears, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.

Exactly what, Kyungsoo only finds out when chapped lips brush gently over his and when the voice whispers softly against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine, "Please, hyung, let me go."

Jongin.

A dream. Kyungsoo opens his eyes and the clock on his bedside tells him it's already five-thirty in the afternoon, and that he had managed to sleep soundly through his morning alarms, all of which were set between his practiced morning time frame.

He looks around and his whole room is blanketed in darkness, save from the muffled light behind the white curtains. But that doesn't stop him from rechecking to see if it really is five-thirty in the afternoon.

17:31pm. He overslept. Kyungsoo gets off of bed and walks groggily towards the window. The sky outside his window is clear; there's not one cloud in sight. And Kyungsoo realizes that it is afternoon, and that he wasted hours which were supposed to be spent in searching for Jongin by oversleeping.

He changes into something that isn't his pajamas, gags on mouthwash, and skips breakfast and lunch. His leather shoes are still soaked and perhaps permanently ruined from yesterday, so he tugs on an old pair of red sneakers that he thinks he hasn't used ever since he graduated from college. They still look new, which is odd because it's supposed to be as worn out as Jongin's since they bought a matching pair after all. But then again, Jongin had always been reckless in taking care of things, regardless of whether or not they mattered to him. Kyungsoo finishes pulling his shoelaces into a tight knot when he hears a knocking at the front door.

He places a hand over the doorknob and waits. Somehow, he feels like he shouldn't open it. But the knocking comes again, although a lot weaker this time—as if the person on the other side is uncertain, and Kyungsoo thinks it wouldn't hurt if he'd just open the door.

But it does when he takes in a reluctant smile and weary eyes, aiming to look healthy in a hospital gown and with a worn-out duffel bag over the shoulder.

Jongin grins at him as he greets, "Hyung." But it comes out as a whimper.


The bathroom tiles are cold beneath Kyungsoo's feet as he slowly undresses Jongin, untying the loose knot of the latter's hospital gown. It only costs him a weak tug before Jongin is stark naked.

He leads Jongin to the bathtub by the shoulders, and he yelps when Jongin pulls him in with him. The water is lukewarm as it seeps into his clothing, and Jongin helps him take them off; his shirt,jeans, and underwear—all according to order.

Jongin laughs when he sees the beginnings of a deep blush crawl over Kyungsoo's cheeks. "It's not fun when you're the only one who's doing the scrubbing," he says.

Then, they're both stripped off of clothing with only a few islands of bubbles to cover things the both of them shouldn't be ashamed of by now.

Jongin grabs hold of the sponge first and he starts scrubbing Kyungsoo gingerly, running the soft material over the bend where Kyungoo's shoulder and neck meet, up to the underside of his chin, and to the outline of his jaw. He only stops when Kyungsoo turns him around and swipes the sponge away from his hand, saying as he eyes the dirt on his arms, "You're the one who needs to be cleaned."

With more than one person in the tub, it was cramped and almost impossible to move around without touching. Jongin closes his eyes as he leans back and rests against Kyungsoo's chest, relaxing in the soft touches Kyungsoo is giving him while lathering shampoo over his head.

Kyungsoo's heart drums rapidly against Jongin's back and he tries to drown out the loud beating in his ears by humming a tune as he cards fingers through Jongin's hair. Jongin's breathing echoes against the bathroom tiles, and Kyungsoo feels it, deep and labored against his chest as he wipes the dirt off the younger's cheek. He lets go of the sponge sooner than expected when he feels cold fingers wrap around his wrist. Kyungsoo watches as Jongin brings his hand closer to his mouth, watches as Jongin presses lips onto his fingertips, plants kisses on his knuckles, and traces the folds and creases of his palm.

Jongin turns around and faces Kyungsoo, so close that he could just lean in and kiss him. But he doesn't—not yet.

"I missed you," he whispers.

And with that, Kyungsoo leans in and claims Jongin's lips for his own. He kisses with his eyes closed, blindly pushing in and grabbing a handful of Jongin's wet hair for support when he feels the latter push him farther until he's hitting cold cement. His elbow nudges the shower knob and he sighs as warm water washes away the soap in their eyes. Jongin places hands on his hips and hoists him up the edge of the tub until his knees are the only part of his body that's soaked in water—the rest shivering under Jongin's touches.

And Jongin sucks him off right then and there, his toes curling, head arching back, and sweat trickling down his neck. He screams as he comes undone around Jongin's cold lips, hands tugging onto the younger's wet hair.

Water splashes around them as Jongin takes him hastily out of the tub, urgency marked by the unwillingness to let go of his lips. And despite Kyungsoo's insistence, they don't make it to the bed. Jongin fucks him hard against the wall, trying his best to balance himself as Kyungsoo wraps limbs around his body. Jongin comes inside of him, eyes closed as he latches his lips back onto Kyungsoo's.

Kyungsoo yelps when Jongin lets go of the tight grip he had on his waist. Jongin pushes him harder against the wall, bringing hands up to cup his face and pull it closer, just slightly, so that they were kissing again. Jongin's lips are chapped and his fingers are cold over his cheeks, and it suddenly reminds Kyungsoo of the dream he had earlier. He finds himself waiting for the words to come out of Jongin's mouth as they try to catch their breaths, sliding down against the wall and onto the floor—sweat sticking onto their foreheads.

But when Jongin finally opens his mouth, he says something different, "I don't want you to forget about me anymore, hyung."


Kyungsoo only realizes that Jongin is still awake by the time the digital clock beside him clicks three-thirty. He tears his eyes away from the ceiling only to see Jongin's back faced to him, whole body shaking as he coughs.

He watches as Jongin languidly pulls the blanket over his shoulder and clears his throat as if he hadn't almost coughed his lungs out, and it's only then that Kyungsoo becomes aware of the chilly breeze coming from the open window. "You're awake," he says, voice almost as soft as a whisper.

It takes a few minutes before Jongin answers him, voice coming softer and smaller than Kyungsoo's, "So are you."

"I can't sleep," Kyungsoo says, eying the untouched glass of water and the packet of pills on his bedside. Jongin stopped him from taking the pills earlier when the younger placed a hand over his and cried and begged for him to believe that he didn't need it.

"Then," Kyungsoo hears Jongin say in between a cough, "stop thinking." before he feels the space beside him dip, before Jongin turns and faces him. "I won't be gone by morning. I won't leave, I promise."

"I wasn't thinking about that." Kyungsoo tries to argue.

But Jongin is grinning too widely that he soon finds himself giving in anyway. "Yes, you were!"

"You look like a kid," Kyungsoo says, in which Jongin responds with a poke to his stomach. "Okay, you act like a kid."

"Says the man who still watches cartoons with me."

Kyungsoo snorts. He wants to tell Jongin that it's just because he's forced to, that he's honestly quite sick of the cartoon. But then he realizes that he isn't the kind to watch a cartoon just because he's asked to, especially if he has watched all of said cartoon's episodes.

Kyungsoo thinks that maybe the reason why he still watches the cartoon with Jongin is because whenever they do, he's granted with the sight of the younger smiling like how he is at the moment, all teeth and crescent-shaped eyes, or maybe it's because he just likes hearing Jongin's breathy laughter. In the end, he finds neither of the two reasons convincing. So he opts not to argue.

Jongin's wide grin recedes slowly into a curve of the lips when Kyungsoo doesn't strike back. "You should sleep now. You still have work tomorrow," he says.

"Jongin, I don't have to. I can skip work—"

"Don't," Jongin explains, "Just because you finally have a page on a magazine doesn't mean you can start slacking, hyung."

Kyungsoo looks at him in the eye. "You... saw?"

Jongin's grin makes an uncalled-for reappearance. "Yes, and I liked your suit. But I think it could have looked better if I was there with you."

And it hits Kyungsoo hard in the guts—Baekhyun's tight grip on his collar, Jongin's finger over his chest, Jongin wanted this, I don't care, but Jongin's ill— "Jongin, I—"

But Jongin is still smiling, "Thanks, hyung. Thank you for keeping your promise." And Kyungsoo finds it—all of this, the memories—nauseating. He finds himself sickening.

When Jongin falls asleep, Kyungsoo almost gives into the urge of swallowing four pills but he manages to control himself when he realizes that it wouldn't be enough to take him away from the nightmare he's currently living in.


Kyungsoo spends the next few hours in counting the involuntarily hitches in Jongin's breathing. He reaches 17 by the time he gets up at 5:15AM. Jongin is still there like he promised, mouth slightly agape and limbs taking up two-thirds of the bed. Kyungsoo stares at him for a bit, studies the way Jongin's chest rises and falls with every breath, the way his eyelashes casts soft shadows over his cheeks. He runs a finger and traces Jongin's left cheek. Jongin stirs but doesn't wake, and Kyungsoo takes the image in as he briefly wonders if Jongin would still be home by the time he gets back from work.

Kyungsoo takes a shower, dresses himself, cooks for two, and goes to work.

At 8AM sharp, he strides into the hallway and greets Chanyeol, who flashes him a polite smile, by the front desk as he makes his way towards the elevator. Being early at the office has its own perks, one of which includes boarding the lift without being crushed against a corner. Kyungsoo was definitely enjoying one right now as he gets inside the spacious platform, nodding at the workers who cautiously greet him.

A swarm of interns immediately crowd over him as soon as he reaches Baekhyun's office, and the door creaks loudly as he opens it in an attempt to escape from the ambush of questions and work deadlines.

"Hey! You can't go inside without permission—" Junmyeon, Baekhyun's secretary, stands up from his seat outside Baekhyun's office and points at Kyungsoo with a dirty look before sitting back down, his voice dropping low, "Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, I thought you were one of the interns."

Kyungsoo nods at Junmyeon before closing the door behind his back. Baekhyun is at his desk, head fixed onto the mounds of paper before him as his hand moves in practiced strokes.

"I didn't think it would be this chaotic without me. You've got a lot of fans outside," Kyungsoo says.

"Why are you here?" Baekhyun asks, ignoring Kyungsoo's statement. He doesn't even raise his head to look at the other. "I thought I told you to take a vacation."

Kyungsoo honestly wishes that he was at home but then he remembers Jongin's words. "I don't need a vacation, Baek. I'm okay now. And judging from the situation outside, I think it'd be better if I were here."

Baekhyun raises his head and looks at him at that. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am," Kyungsoo says and Baekhyun flashes him a grin.

But it's when Kyungsoo finds himself throwing up bile inside a bathroom stall at 3PM, trembling hands stretched taut around cold marble and chest bathed in sweat, that he realizes he's not really okay. Acid scalds his throat and he starts throwing up all over the bathroom tiles, arms no longer strong enough to cling onto the toilet.

He's shaking—too much that he can only lie down and lean against the wall after he's sure that he has retched his intestines out.

"Kyungsoo?" He hears someone call and he regrets not locking the door. Loud footsteps drown out his ragged breathing and he only gets to wipe the spit off his chin before the door opens.

Fluorescent light floods inside the stall, reflects against the tiles and the wooden walls, and it suddenly becomes too blinding that Kyungsoo has to narrow his eyes to make out the shadow in front of him.

And, of course, it had to be Baekhyun.

Silence reigns over them. Kyungsoo inhales short puffs of breath and exhales prolonged sighs. He hates how the bathroom suddenly reeks too much of air freshener and digested stench. Baekhyun stares at him intently, walking closer until he's blocking the door way, and he opens his mouth. Kyungsoo only hopes that he doesn't ask. He hopes that Baekhyun can guess from the tears in his eyes and from the way he's lying limply against the wall beside a puddle of his own vomit.

But then again, this was Baekhyun. "How long since your last pill?"

Kyungsoo barely gets to hold up three fingers towards the other as he pants, "Three... days."


"Baekhyun, relax. It's just a withdrawal. I'm fine," Kyungsoo says from the front seat.

They're inside Baekhyun's sorry excuse for a car, driving towards Kyungsoo's house while Kyungsoo tries to calculate the amount of money Baekhyun had wasted on a black sedan with a roof too low and cushions too soft for his liking.

But Baekhyun doesn't calm down. "What do you mean you're fine?"

And Kyungsoo knows why he doesn't; his friend is just looking out for him like he always does. So he musters up another lie, "I'm really fine. Trust me."

"Sure, because collapsing by the doorway and then puking your lunch out at work is fine. You told me you'd stop taking those pills," Baekhyun says.

Somehow, something about Baekhyun's voice, or perhaps in what he said, strikes a chord in Kyungsoo. "Well, isn't that what you wanted?"

"What are you trying to say?" Baekhyun asks as he pulls the car to a halt just in time for the approaching stoplight just a few blocks away from Kyungsoo's house to turn red.

"Why do you want me to forget about him? Why does everyone want me to forget about him?"

"Kyungsoo you know well why-"

"Yes, I know," Kyungsoo says as he grips onto the seat belt strap over his chest. Jongin is ill. Jongin is dying.

He waits until the car starts moving again before continuing, "But you, Baekhyun, how did you get over him so quickly? It's as if you didn't care for him at all." He pauses to look at the other in the eye, but Baekhyun's eyes refuse to meet his. "You were his best friend, Baek. The only person he told about his condition—and, you told me you loved him when you got drunk—"

"That was back then, Kyungsoo. Please don't bring this up now," Baekhyun solemnly says, voice dipping lower, "I got over him already. I have Chanyeol."

"But you still secretly blame me for everything, don't you? If only Jongin hadn't asked you to look out for me, we both know you wouldn't be here. If you're getting tired then stop it, Baek."

Baekhyun shoots him a look. "What? You think I'm here just because Jongin asked me to be?"

He continues after the car stops in front of Kyungsoo's house, "Do you think I'd be able to stick with you this long if I still hated you? God—Kyungsoo, it's been so long—I'm not looking out for you just because Jongin told me to anymore! Have you always thought that way?"

Kyungsoo couldn't ignore the disappointment in Baekhyun's voice, but there wasn't a way to take back the things he just said.

"You know what? Yes, I'm tired of always having to look out for you. So, okay. Sure, I'll stop. You're too good right? You don't need me anymore," Baekhyun says, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He looks down at his feet, biting down his lower lip when he says, "You've always been too good. No wonder Jongin chose you over me in the first place."

Kyungsoo steps out of the car and Baekhyun closes the door for him. Seoul near the end of autumn is cold; Kyungsoo's breath fogs against the half-closed windows of the car when he breathes out an apology, "Baekhyun, I'm sorry."

But Baekhyun doesn't look at him, doesn't think twice when he steps on the accelerator and drives away. Kyungsoo watches as the car disappears into the distance, idly picking inside the pocket of his coat as he tugs it closer to his body by the time the car becomes one with the horizon. He heaves a heavy sigh and, suddenly, it's winter.


Emptiness is the feeling that welcomes Kyungsoo as soon as he steps inside the house. All the lights are off and there's no sign of any low buzzing coming from the television in his living room. It's soon replaced with panic when he catches sight of the breakfast he made for Jongin on the table, still left untouched and freezing. Then, the thought of kicking off his shoes gets ignored by the need to find Jongin. Kyungsoo searches the house, yelling Jongin's name every time he barges inside a room. He's tired and his eyes sting by the time he's finished searching the first and second floor because Jongin promised that he'd still be there once he comes home from work. Jongin can't possibly be gone again.

Kyungsoo is about to leave through the front door when he hears a loud coughing resounding from the basement, the only place he didn't search, and sure enough, he finds Jongin there.

"I thought you left," is what Kyungsoo says as soon as he steps off the last step of the staircase. It's been long since the last time he went down, which was to store boxes of unused office supplies. "You haven't touched the breakfast I made," he says as he steps inside.

Standing in the middle of the room with his back towards Kyungsoo and hands on both sides of his waist, making him look as if he was inspecting the bare cement wall in front of him, is Jongin.

There are reasons why Kyungsoo didn't think Jongin could be in the basement; one of them being the fact that there simply is nothing in the room except for rows of shelves filled with boxes that have gathered dust and cast harsh shadows once exposed under the dull light coming from the rarely used light bulb. Another reason was because aside from boxes, the basement was also filled with buckets of paint—something Kyungsoo thinks Jongin doesn't want to see.

"I just woke up," Jongin answers without looking at him.

Aged dirt smudges Kyungsoo's fingertips when he glides two fingers on top of the box to his left and he frowns at how it feels coarse against his skin. "You shouldn't be here. Won't the dust irritate you?"

"I was touring the house when I came here, and decided that I want to paint your walls. They look too plain, don't you think?" Jongin turns around and flashes a smile that takes Kyungsoo by surprise.

Even though a lot of things have started running rapidly inside his head after what Jongin said, Kyungsoo manages to joke, "Paint? You still know how to?"

"Yes, of course," Jongin says rather indignantly before carefully dragging a bucket of red paint closer to his feet. He uses both hands to lift the bucket, almost as if it were heavier than him, which earns him a funny look from the other. "Want to help?"

A distant memory of Jongin in front of the doorstep, clutching a plastic bag filled with brushes and dripping with acrylic, strikes through Kyungsoo. He remembers that night when Jongin had decided to crash outside his house. Luckily, his parents were asleep that time, or else they could've heard how Jongin broke down and cried as he told him to calm down I'm here, to stop crying you're not alone it's going to be okay. They could've heard how Jongin screamed that no, it's never going to be okay because they never care for what I want, they never care for me. Kyungsoo thinks that maybe that was how Jongin had started smoking more and had landed on the same college course as him.

The sound of Jongin's coughing brings Kyungsoo back from his own thoughts, and he quickly remembers to answer back. "Sure."

But Jongin probably doesn't hear it, judging from the way he's wheezing and leaning forwards with one arm propping himself against the wall. The bucket of paint is now opened, the pungent smell of latex sharp and piercing as Kyungsoo breathes it in. He isn't sure of what to do but Jongin is pointing at his bag and Kyungsoo knows exactly what the latter needs once he opens it.

Kyungsoo hands it to Jongin who was now sitting on the floor with a hand over his mouth. He takes a step back after the younger takes the thing away from his hands and uses it, hands naturally finding their way to bring the inhaler to his mouth. From there, Kyungsoo could only watch how Jongin's eyebrows furrow as he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in too deeply until his back was arched from the wall. He starts counting slowly, waiting until he hears a sharp gasp of air. Jongin exhales too quickly once he reaches ten.

"Thanks hyung." is the first thing that comes out of Jongin's mouth after he relaxes, his voice hoarse and weak. He crouches down a breath later, hands coming up to claw at his face as he tries to fight against involuntary tremors and regain his breathing. "I'm getting... worst, aren't I?"

Kyungsoo shakes his head firmly even though he knows that Jongin isn't looking. "Don't think too much. I'm sure it's just the dust."

"Just the dust," Jongin snickers. His head snaps back up and he's smiling this time, despite the subtle hint of something wet outlining the rims of his eyes. "Maybe you're right."

Kyungsoo does wish he's right. "Let's get out of here, then."

As soon as they get out of the basement, Kyungsoo heads to the kitchen, brings out a kettle and moves to boil hot water. It's still a quarter till sundown, and Jongin decides to break the budding silence between day and night by blasting the stereo in Kyungsoo's living room.

"Come dance with me hyung!" Jongin chimes as he strides into the kitchen moments later, wrapping his arms around Kyungsoo who's standing in front of the kitchen stove with his arms crossed.

"Not until you eat," Kyungsoo says steadily, trying his best to act as if he was completely unperturbed by Jongin's sudden proximity.

"I can't eat that."

"What?" Kyungsoo turns to face Jongin, the latter's hands still on his waist. "You don't like my spaghetti? It has always been your favorite—"

"It still is, hyung. It's just—my condition," Jongin starts, lowering his head so that his forehead touches Kyungsoo's. "I can't swallow food properly. It's hard."

Just as the kettle whistles, indicating that the water inside of it is now boiling hot, Kyungsoo freezes in place. He realizes that he doesn't really know anything about Jongin's condition, doesn't know the do's and dont's in probably saving Jongin's life.

Jongin reaches a hand behind Kyungsoo to turn the stove off. "Okay. I'll promise to eat later. Just come with me this time."

The music sounds even louder once they get to the living room, loud enough that it shakes the glass table beside the stereo. Jongin turns the volume down a little before popping a CD inside the machine. He plays a song Kyungsoo has long forgotten the name of.

"What's the song called?" Kyungsoo asks as Jongin comes up to him.

"It doesn't matter."

"It sounds like it's from the 60's—"

Kyungsoo gets cut off when Jongin grabs hold of both his hands and hurls then spins the both of them around and around until all they can see is each other against blurred surroundings, mouth wide open in muted laughter, holding on to each other's hands in fear that one would let go and send them both off balance. Just as they were slowing down, Jongin stumbles and the both of them land giggling on the floor, heartbeats beating louder than the stereo.

Kyungsoo eagerly stands up not a minute after, pants, "Is that all you've got?" He offers Jongin a hand which the younger takes with the same enthusiasm, and they dance again. Kyungsoo's all scattered limbs and predicted moves, a strong contrast to Jongin's fluid fervor and practiced moves.

Halfway through the song, Kyungsoo discreetly slows down to observe Jongin's dancing. Despite how Jongin seems to miss out on some notes, fall behind a few beats, he thinks that Jongin's dancing is still the same. It still makes him feel a myriad of emotions all at once; all of them making him, if possible, fall harder for Jongin.

Suddenly, Jongin stops, walks towards the stereo, and breathlessly pushes the button that makes a calmer song fill the entire room. His arms wrap around Kyungsoo's waist again in a backhug, hands guiding the older male's hips as the both of them sway to the slow rhythm. He buries his head in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck, chest pressing against the older's back.

And Kyungsoo doesn't miss how Jongin breathes rather too rapidly as if he just came back from running, the whole process—the inhaling then exhaling—not even lasting for a second each.

"Are you okay?" Kyungsoo asks and he turns and sees that Jongin has his eyes shut. "You seem pretty out of breath."

Jongin just manages a nod before burying his head farther into the crook of Kyungsoo's neck. Soon enough, as if the both of them already saw it coming, he starts coughing again. He detaches himself from Kyungsoo, chooses to lean against the couch as support. He's not even trying to muffle his coughs this time, and it all sounds so surreal to Kyungsoo—the way how Jongin's coughing oddly fits the slow song that's currently playing.

And maybe somewhere before the song reaches a full stop, before Jongin starts breathing again, Kyungsoo realizes that
Jongin is getting worse.


"Since when?" Jongin blurts out as soon as Kyungsoo slides the glass door open.

"Since when, what?" Kyungsoo says before standing beside Jongin, three steps too far. They're at the veranda, bodies leaning against the railings and eyes staring down at the city lights below instead of the starless sky above them. The city is calm at the current hour, the occasional blaring of the cars too quiet in the silence of the wind and in the unsteadiness that is Jongin's breathing.

"Since when did you start earning too much?"

Kyungsoo chuckles, shifts all of his weight on to his right foot as he eyes a passing vehicle. "What are you talking about? I don't earn too much."

Jongin takes it as an opportunity to take a step closer. "Well, I guess you're right, since you can't seem to afford not to wear a dress shirt everyday."

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, Kyungsoo steps back. He fakes a nonchalant answer, folding the sleeves of his dress shirt for added effect, "It's just a dress code."

Jongin hums, and it's only then that Kyungsoo notices he's holding something when he waves a set of papers in front of the older's face. "Well, I think your business plan needs revision."

"Revision?"

"Yes, as in changing things to make it better."

"I know what you mean by that, but why should I trust you?" Kyungsoo almost stumbles as he tries to get the set of papers back from Jongin, but Jongin is quick enough to dodge him. "How did you even get that—"

"First, it was lying all over your desk," Jongin says, raising his index finger as if to further emphasize his point. He's smiling, eyes crinkling into crescents, when he brings up the second finger, "Second, I know better than you."

"Oh really? Tell me something I don't know then." Kyungsoo challenges, taking a step closer to Jongin this time.

And Jongin gladly accepts, even stepping forward so that they were now only a few inches apart. "Do you know how you look like when you sleep? Do you know that you always mumble my name?"

"I don't need to know any of that."

"Well, the way you look makes me want to kiss you every time." With that, Jongin closes the space between them with an open-mouthed kiss, hands already letting go of the papers and trailing up to frame the sides of Kyungsoo's hips as he guides the older to move so that he was pushing him against the railings.

Kyungsoo kisses Jongin back without hesitation, welcomes the feeling of blood rushing up to his cheeks and to his ears as if he's already used to it. He pushes his mouth against Jongin's in an attempt to get more access to the younger's mouth with his eyes closed, squeezed shut. His hands are sticky with cold sweat as they trail from Jongin's face down to his throat, his chest, his shoulder. The loud beating of his heart drowns out what's left of the city, but it doesn't erase the taste of nicotine in Jongin's mouth.

Kyungsoo suddenly pushes Jongin away, lips leaving the other's with a light pop. He takes a deep breath, sighs, fixes the collar of his shirt, and runs his fingers through his hair. "Why did you come back?"

"Why?" Jongin asks, tilting his head and smiling when he meets the older's puzzled look. " You don't want me here?"

Kyungsoo thinks about the sessions, the pills, all the things that he did to forget Jongin. All the efforts that went to waste just with Jongin showing up at his doorstep. " I... I don't know. Sometimes I think I don't, but most of the times, I think I do. I do want you here."

"Then, I don't know either. Maybe it's because I need someone to take care of me till I pass away? Somewhere comfortable, of course, like on your bed or on your couch."

Jongin coughs again. He's been smoking behind his back, Kyungsoo can tell, but he doesn't say anything about it. Jongin's chest heaves violently this time, desperate to become one with metal as Jongin presses his stomach against the railings, as if the lack of oxygen would stop him from throwing his lungs out.

"Pass away," Kyungsoo mutters, ignores the prickle, the sudden sting, in his eyes. It's like Jongin going away all over again, but this time, for good. "You can't pass away."


Kyungsoo sits still in front of his computer, hands typing letters of concern in record speed. The words he's typed end up staring at him moments later, font-sized letters in 12 static and embedded on the white backdrop of the monitor, and he finds himself staring back at the one that somehow summarizes Jongin's illness, the one at the very end of the paragraph: incurable.


Let me go.

Kyungsoo's eyes shoot open, his body abruptly sitting up on reflex, and then he's panting—chest heaving air in and out of his lungs as sweat trickles down his forehead. It's a bad dream again, and it's only after he's calmed down that he notices he's still in front of the computer and inside his own office.

The analog clock on the other side of his office is pointing two-thirty in the morning, and he almost jumps in his seat when he hears a frustrated shout reverberate from somewhere inside the house. He goes out of his office, and after finding out where all the noise came from, down to the basement.

"Jongin!" Kyungsoo calls upon hearing the sound of metal clanking against concrete. The door to the basement is locked and he hurries back up to get the keys from his office, only coming back down in time to see Jongin kick a bucket of paint over, making it fall and spill its contents all over the floor.

Jongin drops his knees on the ground, the cloth of his jeans becoming one with the paint that's pooling beneath him. His hands soon dip themselves onto the red liquid as he starts coughing again, bending his back and breaking himself into half. It's the worst state Kyungsoo has ever seen him in.

Kyungsoo rushes towards the other side of the room, to where Jongin's worn out bag is lying, and empties it—sends unrecognizable objects to the floor as he scrambles to find Jongin's breather.

Soon enough, he comes behind Jongin and makes the latter sit up, dragging him towards the corner of the room until his own back hits the wall. It takes a few movements before they're both sitting down on the floor, with Jongin's back against Kyungsoo's chest, and even more before Kyungsoo brings the breather up Jongin's mouth. His hands are shaking but he manages to press the breather's nozzle after he's sure that its mouthpiece is inside Jongin's mouth. "Breathe it in," he commands.

After Jongin has took in all the air from the breather, Kyungsoo puts the breathing device away and uses his other hand to cover Jongin's mouth as he starts counting from one to ten, his back arching and sinking in sync with Jongin's. The younger's head is resting on his shoulder and from this position, Kyungsoo can smell the paint on Jongin's hair, on his face, and on his shirt.

Kyungsoo waits till Jongin sighs, till his breathing calms down, before he removes his hand from the latter's mouth. And he doesn't know what to feel when he sees crimson staining the skin of his palm. It doesn't feel like paint.

He hides his hand away when Jongin shifts.

"I—I tried—I wanted to paint—I wanted to paint you, hyung," Jongin says, his voice trembling. "But my hands—they—"

Kyungsoo tightens his arms around Jongin's waist, shushing the latter. "They shake, I know. I've read," he whispers. He looks at the stray strokes of paint on the concrete wall before them. "You can't hold a brush like you used to before, I know. But it's normal, Jongin. It's normal," Kyungsoo continues, trying hard to look away from the blood on his hand.


"Come inside, it's cold out here tonight. Aren't you going to sleep?" Kyungsoo asks.

They're at the veranda again, with Jongin still not out of his paint-smudged shirt, hands nursing an unlit cigarette. "Old habits die hard," he says, but Kyungsoo doesn't take the cigarette away from him. He wouldn't know how to anyway, not when Jongin is holding onto the little stick as if it were his only lifeline.

Jongin lifts his head, letting go of an imaginary puff of smoke, and Kyungsoo pretends to watch the gray mist that's supposedly coming out of his dry mouth as it disappears into the sky and to the clouds that speak of winter rain.

"I don't feel like sleeping," he says, taking in another drag of nonexistent smoke. "How about you? You look like you haven't slept for days."

"Maybe it's because I'm still not used to sleeping without taking a pill."

"You've stopped taking them?"

"It's actually been more than a week."

Jongin hums. "That's good to hear."

The air between them plunges into a quick silence, allowing each of them to compile their own thoughts and construct understandable sentences before it ends, and it only does so when Jongin turns to look at Kyungsoo. And Kyungsoo tries hard to forget about what happened earlier as he takes in the red smudge on Jongin's shirt. But he fails.

"Jongin," Kyungsoo starts, trying to find the right words. The blood stain on the skin of his palm has turned dry and sticky. "Jongin—I...I think we should take you back to a hospital."

A pause; Jongin doesn't answer, only blinks languidly at him, eyes feigning perfect indifference. He takes it as an invitation to go on.

"Jongin, listen to me. I've read about your disease. I know more about it now than I did before. I know that's it's incurable, but we can try to stop it from getting worse right? It's not a terminal disease—Jongin, I—the doctors can still save you—"

"That's not what they told me the last time I was there," Jongin cuts Kyungsoo off sharply. He brings the unlit cigarette back up to his mouth, wedging it between gritted teeth. "They've already done what they could," he says with no hint of hesitation in his tone.

"How can you be so sure—"

"End stage COPD. I'm sure you've read about it too."

Kyungsoo doesn't blink, eyes too focused on the syllables that's coming out of Jongin's mouth. "There wasn't anything about—"

"It means I'm at the fucking edge of dying. It means that there's only about 50% of my lungs keeping me alive. It means that I'm going to die trying hard to catch my last breath." He throws the cigarette away, drops it onto the floor and steps on it, desperately putting out a fire that wasn't even there. "Don't you think I'm pathetic, hyung? I can't even paint or dance anymore. I'm going to fucking die of COPD when others that have the same disease as I do, live."

"Maybe if you'd rest—if we went to the hospital-"

Jongin sighs heavily, tired of having to repeat the truth to everyone—to himself—over and over again. "There's no saving me, Kyungsoo."

"Why are you being so cynical about this?"

"Why? Have you seen anyone happy about dying? Do you think you know all about this? I've had this thing ages before you fucking knew, Kyungsoo. You don't have the right to tell me what I should do and what I should feel."

Kyungsoo stiffens, balls his hands into fists. "I just want to help you, Jongin."

"Don't you think it's two years too late for that?" Jongin asks.

Kyungsoo stares at thin air, confused. But he remembers it clearly. The crescents on his palms. The convenience store. The image of Jongin's retreating back disappearing into the dark—forever. He's tired. They're both tired.

Jongin doesn't speak for a long time, but when he does, it's barely a whisper. "You should sleep first. I'll go in later."

Eleven slowly drifts into midnight with Kyungsoo staring at the ceiling above him. He's tried shifting and turning, tried his best to find the best position—even counting all the dents on the wall—but he still couldn't sleep. So, he makes his way towards the kitchen and grabs a half-empty bottle of brandy and takes it to the living room.

He turns the TV to a documentary about mental illnesses, and finds himself smiling at the sound of the narrator's monotonous voice. It doesn't take long for his eyes to feel heavy, but they open again once Jongin passes by him and walks into the bathroom.

And it's only when Jongin's coughing starts echoing from the bathroom that Kyungsoo realizes that the brandy tastes just like the one he had days ago, that maybe it's the same bottle, that Jongin can be gone any moment from now, and that he's really, really, alone.


Another morning comes, and Kyungsoo wakes up to the blood stain that had dried on his palm. He forgot to wash it off.

Jongin is lying on the floor, sleeping. There's crimson on the corner of his lips and on the collar of his shirt.

Kyungsoo gets off of the couch and straight to the bathroom. There's blood on the floor too. He turns the tap on, washes drool off of his face, and looks at the floor again through the vanity mirror after the cold morning water splashes him wide-awake; It's spotless. Everything in the bathroom is just how he left it the last time.

He comes back to the living room with a hot towel and a basin in hand, and washes Jongin's face, making sure to gently scrub the blood off the latter's face. Jongin's lips break into a small smile by the time he moves to wipe them with the tip of the towel, and it eventually grows into a state of awareness as he lifts Jongin's smudged shirt, takes them off, and helps the younger change into a clean black sweater.

Jongin only slings an arm over Kyungsoo's shoulders in the process, warm morning breath lightly blowing against the shell of Kyungsoo's left ear.

Kyungsoo inhales, deeply, and maybe tilts his head a little closer to Jongin's arms. "Why did you sleep on the floor?"

"I'm sorry," is what Jongin replies.

The way to Kyungsoo's room only takes a few bumps against the walls, suppressed chuckles into ears, a peck on the lips, and a door left open.

"I'm sorry," Jongin repeats once they drop onto the bed, bodies alternately rebounding from the cushion.

"Sorry," Kyungsoo looks at Jongin, amused at the way the latter's hair has stuck in all of the ways they shouldn't. "For what?" And he doesn't avert his gaze even when Jongin inches closer to him, even when their noses touch, even when Jongin returns his stare.

"For everything," Jongin whispers.

"For everything," Kyungsoo repeats, "I'm sorry too."


Kyungsoo's definition of 'time left to spend with Jongin' slowly stretches from seconds into minutes, to hours, to days, and to weeks—a complex cycle of coming nearer or farther from infinity. He spends every bit of it with Jongin, snuggling on the couch, trying to filter fresh air into their lungs from the veranda, watching cartoon reruns, then arguing about watching the news instead. And it's during the time he spends listening to the hitches in Jongin's breathing, watching Jongin break himself into two when he coughs, wiping the tears in Jongin's eyes after the latter uses his breather, and being alone when Jongin unintentionally sleeps for 25 hours is when his definition of 'time left to spend with Jongin' crumbles, turns upside down. And he thinks that maybe it has always been upside down from the very start, that maybe they started from the highest point and are now falling quickly from weeks, to days, to hours, to seconds, till, eventually, the end.

Days.

"Baekhyun?" Kyungsoo answers into the receiver. He catches how Jongin stares up at him as he sits up, crosses the living room, and excuses himself into the kitchen. "You called."

"I was actually expecting you to be the one to make the call, but as expected, you're still that same heartless friend," Baekhyun jokes, voice drowning out the echo of the TV from Kyungsoo's living room.

"I was planning to—honestly—but, hey- listen, I'm sorry for what I said," Kyungsoo says as if he'd been waiting to do so for a long time.

"Forget about it. I was at fault too; I got too affected. Besides, you already apologized before, right?"

"Yeah...Thanks," Kyungsoo sighs in relief. "So... how are things going on there?" he starts.

"You mean the company? Well, we've managed to finish projects without your presence so you don't need to come back."

Kyungsoo scoffs, "Really now..."

"But you should come back. It's quite boring when I can't talk to anyone here without being expected to give them a raise."

"Soon, I promise. I'll come back soon."

"Though that's unlikely, I'll have your office cleaned by the time you do get back," Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo can almost see the way he's smiling. "See you soon, Kyungsoo."

The call ends, leaving Kyungsoo a bit confused. But he finds himself dismissing it as one of Baekhyun's jokes.

Kyungsoo comes back to the living room to a sight of Jongin lying on the couch with a hand propping up his head; He's watching cartoons again. Kyungsoo tells Jongin to scoot over but the latter just lifts his head up, making just enough space for him to squeeze in and sit properly and when he does, Jongin immediately rests his head on his lap.

"You're watching that show again," Kyungsoo mock-sighs, treading fingers through Jongin's untamed hair.

"I didn't think they'd air it non-stop for a whole day, though. Don't you find it weird too?" Jongin looks up at him, looking as innocent as a child with a lot of unanswered questions.

"Now that I think of it... yeah," Kyungsoo furrows his brows, confused as to how they've been watching the same show for days.

"Anyway, who called you?" Jongin asks.

Kyungsoo pauses, fidgets with the remote control, before answering. "It was Baekhyun."

"He still keeps in touch with you? How is he?"

There's this palpable burst of enthusiasm in Jongin's voice, and Kyungsoo immediately remembers the night Baekhyun had told him that he was in love with Jongin, that it's all his fault. Kyungsoo turns the TV off. "He's doing fine. He's actually my business partner, we run this advertising thing."

"Is that the reason why your company runs slowly?" Jongin snickers.

And Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, forces himself to forget how Baekhyun had sobbed—mourned—in front of him with his head down, body-shaking, whimpering. "Maybe, but at least he can do the job right."

Jongin smiles at him. "That's great."

He's finding It hard to forget. He needs a pill.


Minutes

Winter comes in a blink of an eye with bits and pieces of snow knocking and sticking to Kyungsoo's bedroom window. Jongin rarely goes out Kyungsoo's room now, just stays the whole day in bed.

The house feels too empty and too quiet even with Kyungsoo's midnight sobs in the bathroom; He has to occasionally check on Jongin to assure himself that the younger's still there. And he always finds Jongin lying lethargically in bed with only the unsteady rising and falling of his chest indicating that he's still alive, that he's still with Kyungsoo.

Days past and Kyungsoo finds it hard to get used to only getting the chance to talk to the latter whenever he brings lunch Jongin doesn't want to eat.

"Hyung," Jongin speaks for the first time this day.

And Kyungsoo rushes to the edge of the bed, abandoning the apple that he was busy peeling.

"Hyung, can you tell me a story?" Jongin smiles weakly this time.

Kyungsoo feels something in his eyes. Jongin looks so frail up-close. "It's not bed time yet, Jongin."

Jongin makes a face. "But I want to sleep. I want to fall asleep to your voice."

The bedsheets feel comfortable when Kyungsoo tucks himself close to Jongin, and he just wants to stay beside Jongin for awhile, even though the latter doesn't feel as warm as he did before; Jongin feels like winter. "But promise me you'll wake up, okay?"

Jongin nods.

"What do you want it to be about?" Kyungsoo asks.

"Anything with a happy ending," Jongin answers, coughs.

"Okay, I'll try." Kyungsoo says, pulling the blanket up so it would cover Jongin's shoulders. "So... So, they bumped into each other at their highschool's corridor. One asked for the other's name, and after much pestering they became friends." Kyungsoo watches Jongin's mouth bloom into a smile. "They were happy. But one started to drink, smoke, run away, and cry too much. And the other... was just too blind that he didn't notice him wasting away."

"They landed the same course in college, did well and even promised a future together. " Kyungsoo's throat runs dry. His breathing shallows. "But one started running away and smoking again. Until one day, he ran away for good, leaving everyone who cared for him crying."

"And—" Kyungsoo's voice cracks, "The other wished he came back. He wishes it every fucking single day. He regrets not going after him, for not being there for him—He—All I ever wanted was for them to grow old together, Jongin! Grow old until they spend the last of their fucking days tired and wrinkled in front of a fireplace in a bricked house. I wanted to them to fix things—I'm sorry, Jongin—"

Silence.

"I thought," Jongin asks, covering his eyes with his right arm. "you said it was going to be a happy one?"

Something wet touches the back of Kyungsoo's hand. "Stop crying. I told you I'd try."

"But you're crying too."


Seconds

Kyungsoo's eyes are crusted with sleep when he opens it to the blinding light peeping from the white curtains of his bedroom window. He sits himself up, promptly stretching his arms upward. His neck is stiff and his back aches from slouching and staying half-asleep against the plastic chair he'd placed between the nightstand and his bed.

Jongin is on his bed, snug in layers of cloth that makes him look like a huge pile of blankets on Kyungsoo's bed. He's still asleep, and Kyungsoo doesn't expect him to wake up till evening.

So Kyungsoo takes a bath, puts on a pair of pants and a sweater, and cooks breakfast for two. He's planning to buy a packet of sleeping pills and a refill for Jongin's breather from the nearby drugstore while Jongin is still asleep.

He scribbles the words: "Went to the drugstore. Will be back asap." onto a white post-it note and sticks it onto the fridge, but he takes it off and sticks it onto the nightstand in his bedroom instead. He figures that Jongin might find it hard to stand up and look for him.

Before he leaves, he turns up the heater and brings the blanket up to Jongin's shoulders.

"For the last time, sir, your prescription has expired. We can't sell you the sleeping pills unless you get another prescription from a doctor," the woman says, practiced smile faltering. She hands Kyungsoo back the tattered piece of paper which was supposed to get him a new packet of sleeping pills.

Kyungsoo visibly sighs. "Okay. I understand. Can I atleast have a refill for this?" He hands out Jongin's breather.

The woman takes it. She traces a finger by the small bottle's barcode before giving Kyungsoo a funny look. "You haven't had a refill for two years? "

Kyungsoo just nods.

The drugstore is void of a crowd of people at the current hour, with only the sound of low murmuring and the news from the mounted flatscreen TV by the cashiers filling it's corners. The TV drowns out the opening and closing of cash registers, its screen playing the local morning news.

"A male tourist was found lying lifeless on his hotel bed."

Kyungsoo doesn't exactly know why, but his own heartbeat quickens. Something is telling him that he should rush home and check on Jongin. But the woman still hasn't come back with Jongin's refill.

"Recent autopsy results say that he died from suffocation rather than from drug overdose."

He rushes home.

"Jongin, I'm home," Kyungsoo pants. Chokes. Shouts. "I'm back."

There's no answer. Maybe Jongin is still asleep.

Kyungsoo drops his car keys on the floor and checks the kitchen. The food, Jongin's breakfast, is still untouched. He makes it to his bedroom, Jongin is there.

Jongin is there, lying on his bed. But he's not moving. He's not breathing anymore.

No.

Kyungsoo scrambles to the bathroom, opens his medicine cabinet, and goes back to his bedroom. He swallows everything—every kind of pill on his hands.

The pile of blankets are still on his bed, unmoving. Not breathing. Not Jongin.

No.

Kyungsoo tries swallowing without water. But he chokes. He chokes all of them out. "Jongin!"

"Come back!" he cries.

His hands tremble as he panics to fish out his phone from the pocket of his pants. His vision is blurred with hot liquid, but he manages to dial a familiar number.

"Baekhyun, help."

Baekhyun finds the front door to Kyungsoo's house unlocked. There are car keys on the floor, untouched food in the kitchen, and a mess of cartoon DVDs in the living room.

He finds Kyungsoo in the latter's own bedroom, body hunched back and crying on an empty bed.


It's another morning in Kyungsoo's newfound schedule, and Kyungsoo finds it amusing how life never seems to stop for other people as he gazes down the bustling city street five storeys below. He makes a mental check of his own life. It's still paused somewhere two years ago.

He picks up a magazine as he reclines on the plastic chair. He's found the chair oddly comfortable from constantly sitting on it for hours two times a week, waiting for the woman with owlish glasses that covered a third of her face to call for him. He starts scanning the magazine and pauses on a page that had Baekhyun's face on it. Baekhyun's smilling 'deviously', as Kyungsoo likes to put it. He thinks it's because the name of the company he used to co-own with the other is on the far right corner of the page. He's reminded of the bulletin he saw a week ago; it had Baekhyun's face too.

"A friend," Kyungsoo scoffs.

"Mr. Do Kyungsoo, the doctor is ready to see you. Please come in," the woman with owlish glasses says.

"So when did you start seeing him again?"

Kyungsoo plays with the hem of his shirt. He's lying on a couch which he'd always found more comfortable than the plastic chair outside. "I don't know... maybe after I ran into Luhan?"

"The hallucinations? The vivid dreams?"

Kyungsoo doesn't answer.

"You do know how Jongin died right?" the man tries again.

Kyungsoo finds the impatient drumming of the older man's pen to the desk deafening. "Yes. I was buying medicine from the pharmacy and when I came home, he was not breathing anymore—But I was able to take care of him this time. I was better this time, compared to what I did two years ago. "

"But it says in our records that Jongin died of COPD in Seoul Hospital two years ago."

Kyungsoo doesn't believe him. He sees Jongin behind him, smiling. He smiles back. He blinks, and Jongin's gone. Again.


re·vi·sion noun \riˈviZHən\

: a change or a set of changes that corrects or improves something

: a new version of something : something that has been corrected or changed