starry’s archives

you pretend to shudder, still refusing to look at him. “cringe.”

“you’re cringe,” he retorts childishly, but shifts closer as he does it. turns over your palm in his hand, traces the lines with a gentle finger, and asks you, in a softer tone. “what is it?”

you play dumb. “what’s what?”

vernon sighs, casts you a look that you don’t return. “what’s bothering you?”

part of you wants to shrivel up and die — the mortifying ordeal of being known is, in fact, mortifying. but another part of you, a stronger part of you, thinks it’s sweet, actually. that he knows you so well.

it’s not surprising, though. you and vernon are… some sort of undefined, ambiguous thing, some vague space between friends and dating, something hazy — and something special, on top of all that.

you’ve been on kind-of dates. out to dinner, to the park, to watch the sunrise, to meet his sister once, even. you haven’t kissed, but you’ve held hands; you haven’t said i like you, but he calls you baby, sometimes. and sometimes you even say it back.

you feel it. hanging in the air between you — again, some shapeless, undefined, abstract concept, which was fine at first, but now it’s getting to you.

“i don’t want to be that person,” you say, in a small voice, gaze fixed to your joined hands. “but… what are we?”

vernon keeps playing with your fingers, silent for a moment. his voice is quiet, mirroring yours, when he answers. “whatever you’d like us to be,” he says finally, and it’s his turn to avoid your gaze, staring determinedly down at your fingers as though they hold the secrets of the universe.

“i think,” you say slowly; and he looks up when you don’t finish, only to see you smiling — one of those gorgeous, heart-rending smiles that makes him ache a little. “i think,” you begin again, “that i’d like to kiss you now.”

an equally breathtaking smile breaks onto vernon’s face. “i think i’d like that very much.”

an / my obsession w writing vernon & f2l needs to be studied.

But you’d continued to be his ever sturdy friend, roping him into blind double dates when you didn’t want to meet a new potential candidate by yourself. He’d tried, knowing your feelings were solely platonic. But he’d never been able to silence the whispered what if? in his mind. Still, he couldn’t tell you. You were far too precious to him to risk losing over some silly fantasy he had.

And so he remained your closest, most trusted friend. He was with you through thick and thin, through every moment big and small. Through birthdays, break ups and everything in between. The time you’d fallen from that old oak tree and fractured your wrist, in which Minho had painfully dragged you home to get you to a hospital. That one day you’d come to his front door, holding a mangled bundle of fur-hardly recognizable anymore to be your beloved cat-to your chest. You trembled, splotched and bloody creature cradled tenderly in your arms. Crystal tears traced your cheeks, and your strained red eyes met Minho’s as you spoke, voice quivering.

“I didn’t think it would end this way.”

He’d been with you when you’d buried the poor cat, and the days you’d break down again, deeply missing your friend. He’d been with you as you’d healed, slowly and surely, through his support and your own undeniable strength.

You’d always been so strong.

Suitors came and went at an alarming pace; near the end of 11th grade, another cat made its way into your home. For some reason, she loved Minho. You’d said the cat had taste. Minho refrained from inquiring upon your taste, bashing himself for still liking you. Even after two whole years of having a crush on you, your smile gave him all sorts of butterflies, and he cursed his weak heart for being so affected by you.

Senior year of high school came quickly. You suffered from heartbreak early into the year, and Minho couldn’t keep his frustration at bay this time. You gave your heart away far too easily, keeping it vulnerable on your sleeve for anyone to play with.

“I don’t know why.” You confessed to him one day, curled up beside him on your porch swing. Your cat was stubbornly perched on Minho’s lap as he tried his best to listen patiently to you speak. “I don’t know why I let them in so easily. I don’t even like most of those guys that much.”

“Then why do you date them?” Minho asked, mind swirling in confusion. It made no sense to him.

A minute before you slowly answered. “I guess… maybe because I’m scared.” You muttered, playing with the rips in your jeans.

He’d looked at you then, noticing the light sparkle in your eyes. Tears?

“I’m scared I’ll end up alone, with no one to love me.” You whispered, a small tremble shaking your voice.

Minho could only watch you for a moment, head spinning with confusion and worry. He’d never realized your fears. He’d only ever assumed you’d done it for fun or something. But you were really scared.

“But is it really worth it if you don’t love them back?” Minho eventually responded, running his fingers over your cat’s head, a small purr rising from the creature. “Isn’t that more lonely?”

Minho stared at you, as if that could help him see inside your head. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t good at reading you. What on earth were you thinking all this time? Did you not realize that you’d always had him?

But is it really worth it if you don’t love me back?

Throw it back in my face. Give me some excuse to keep hoping.

You looked right into his eyes, and Minho swore he saw something different in them. Something changed in that instant, something he couldn’t understand. Was he really so clueless?

“I guess.” You murmured, before turning away again, head moving to lean tentatively on his shoulder. Minho only realized he’d been holding his breath when he’d completely run out of air.

He was so stupid to hope. Yet he did, anyway.

You stopped dating around. Senior year continued, a mix of cramming for tests and wasting time in hidden cafes you pulled Minho to. It was the month before when Minho finally realized prom was approaching-fast. Neither of you had dates. You didn’t even have a potential candidate this time.

You didn’t seem interested, either-which concerned Minho, since this was so out of character for you. Especially when you confessed that you didn’t even know if you wanted to go to prom at all.

“What do you mean?” Minho demanded, sitting across from you at the cafe, while you carefully sipped a steaming mug of tea.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, glancing out the window at the rain. “Feels kind of pointless.”

Minho frowned, as you drank your tea for a minute before adding, “I don’t have anyone who wants to go with me anyways.”

“Are you kidding? You could come with me.” Minho only registered the words after they left his mouth, and desperately begged you didn’t notice his flaming ears when you looked back at him, surprised. He quickly added, “Since we both don’t have dates.”

“You don’t have anyone you want to take?” You questioned, setting your mug down.

I only ever wanted to go with you.

Different words came out. “No. Why not go together?” He picked up his iced coffee, a perfect distraction from the way you were watching him, and the frantic beating of his heart.

“Okay.” You answered, and it had taken everything in Minho to not spill his iced coffee all over his shirt in shock.

“Really?”

“Really.” You confirmed, nonchalant as you resumed the sipping of your tea. “Why not?”

It took only two minutes after watching you leave the shop for him to begin to fret as reality set in.

He was going to prom with you.

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream, dance or puke. Maybe all of them.

Maybe that was why you were both completely unprepared when prom week rolled around. Minho gathered the help of Changbin and Chan to assist him in picking out a tux and advice on what the hell to do and say. Nervous energy bottled up inside of him as the day approached. He spotted you in the hallways, but this time he avoided having to talk to you. He swore it seemed like you were doing the same thing.

At last he bumped into you the day before, and blurted, “Can I pick you up at 7?”

Was that… redness on your ears? “Sure.” You responded, smiling at Minho. “I’ll be ready.”

Was he the only one feeling awkward? “Okay, cool.”

He practically ran away after a quick goodbye. His mind felt like it was inside a blender. This was really happening.

The day of, he was only a minute early to your house, trying to control his nerves as he knocked and was let in by your mother. You were just finishing getting ready, and Minho found you sitting at your desk, the mirror assisting you as you tried to clip on dangling earrings.

His mind went instantly blank.

The sleeveless black dress hugged your curves and edges in the very best way, the long tulle skirt draping down to your ankles. It sparkled in the light whenever you moved, hands still desperately working with the earring in your hand. Minho admired the sleek bodice, the criss-cross pattern over your back, your exposed shoulders, the sway of the skirt as you tucked your feet back.

Minho had to mentally shake himself several times before you noticed him staring. He cleared his throat and tapped twice on your doorframe. “Y/n?”

You jumped in your chair, nearly knocking over a small box of jewelry in the process. “Minho! I didn’t realize-you were here.” You grabbed a small necklace and carefully clasped it around your neck. Minho’s eyes took in the curve of your collarbone where the tiny diamond sat hanging from its gold chain.

Gosh, he had to stop staring.

“I… have something.” He spoke, slowly pulling a small box from behind his back, opening it to show you the contents. A corsage decorated with bright red roses sat perfectly in place, and you stared at the roses for a moment in silence. Minho refrained from biting his lip as he waited for your response. He’d known you’d liked roses but he hadn’t been sure about colour-he should have figured out your dress colour beforehand-

“Crimson roses.” You eventually murmured, so quietly Minho could barely hear you.

“Huh?”

“Crimson roses. They represent grief.”

You were so odd, knowing the meaning of every single flower. “Well, I just thought they were pretty.” He shrugged. “And I thought they might look even prettier on you.”

He ignored the reddening of his own cheeks, while simultaneously noting the way you flushed and tried to brush it off by speaking up. “Well…”

You held out your arm, allowing Minho to slip the band onto your wrist. Your pretty smile appeared, a little shy around the corners. “What do you think?”

“Beautiful.” He responded, and you blushed again when you noticed his eyes were only looking at you.

Minho drove you both, nerves building up over time as you neared the location. His mind was busy with thoughts. What was going to happen when you got there? Would you want to dance? Well, it was prom, of course you would want to dance, he told himself. And that thought alone was enough to send his heart racing.

Your close proximity in the car felt different than every other time you’d rode shotgun with him. You smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. Why did you smell so nice?

Thankfully, Minho made it to the prom venue with his sanity still intact. He offered you his arm, as nonchalantly as possible. You accepted, lightly gripping the sleeve of his tux. He allowed himself a small breath, before smiling at you and nodding. “Ready?”

Your only response was to pull him closer to the strobe lights and photo booth, pointing excitedly to the stations. Minho didn’t mind at all when you dragged him into the booth, taking way too many pictures together. With each camera flash, his nerves dissolved as you both fell into your natural rhythm again; the only difference being, whenever Minho saw you smile, a million butterflies swarmed into his stomach.

The number increased into the billions when you pulled him onto the dance floor halfway through the night. “It’s prom, we have to dance!” You giggled, taking Minho’s hands and moving them to the correct position for the dance. Flustered, he barely registered his hands on your hips before you moved, spinning around the floor. Instantly the lights and fellow dancers melted away, and Minho could only focus on the music, your laugh, and his feet. He wasn’t clumsy normally-but something about dancing with you made his feet tangle together within the first seconds.

“I thought you could dance!” You teased, laughter bubbling from your painted lips.

He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow at you. “You want to see dancing?”

His grip on you tightened as he picked up his pace again, focusing on the music as he soared across the ground. You gasped, eyes wide in surprise, before your fingers curled around his biceps and you began to dance with him. Energy flowed through Minho’s veins as he twirled you once, twice; you were laughing that beautiful laugh of yours; and the dance ended far too quickly.

You paused as the crowd around you cheered, and applauded with them. Minho pulled his hands back from you to clap, a sudden shyness taking him over.

Stop being so nervous, you idiot! His mind shouted, while another voice screamed back, BUT SHE’S SO DAMN CUTE.

He mastered himself, before offering his hand to you as the music picked up again. “Up for another round?”

You beamed, accepting the hand. “Definitely.”

If this is a dream, please don’t let me wake up just yet.

You danced until your feet were both soar. You took your heels off after a while, the shoes bothersome, and Minho teased you by stepping lightly on your toes. At last, the late night sky was far too pretty to resist. You pulled Minho away from the party, to run away from the noise and chaos for the moment. You found yourself on your favourite bridge, overlooking the river. Minho remembered the times you would meet here, just to watch the sunset. Today, you were guarded by the stars.

You settled your arms on the railing, staring out at the water. Minho was right beside you, watching you tap your bare feet on the pavement.

“You know,” you murmured, turning your eyes to the sky. “I’m glad we went together.”

Minho’s weak heart fluttered at your words, and he had to work extra hard to keep himself from smiling too widely. “You know what? Me too.”

You grinned at him, turning to look Minho in the eyes. Your own deep orbs reflected the starry sky, and the faint lights of the city behind him. You let your fingers trace over the railing before looking back at the water. Minho swore he saw you blush in the faint light as you muttered, “Thank you for being my prom date.”

Maybe it was the blush, or the way you looked in the dim light, or the energy from the night. Either way, he suddenly wanted to throw all care to the wind and just confess-everything. His feelings for you, that had failed to fade over the years, cause he swore he’d never loved someone as much as he loved you. And finally, he didn’t feel quite as hopeless. For the first time in so long, he really felt he might have a chance with you.

He should have just told you at that prom. He shouldn’t have had any regrets.

Instead, Minho glanced at your hand and the red roses clasped to your wrist. What if he reached out to hold your hand for starters? How would you react?

He allowed himself a deep breath before connecting your fingers, and carefully intertwining them. You tensed, stepping back from the railing to look at your hands together. Minho held his breath; nowhere to run now. You let your arm stretch out, Minho’s back tense against the railing, as he waited impatiently.

“Your hand feels nice in mine.” You murmured at last, and Minho’s mind flew into a frenzy at the words. You smiled, a bit shyly. “You know-”

The screeching of tires interrupted, and someone screamed as a car barrelled over the bridge‘s right lane. Minho met your eyes, saw you step towards him, before the rampant vehicle slammed into your body.

Your hand was ripped from his.

Several weeks later, he still remembered every detail of the crash. Collapsing beside your crumpled broken figure, and touching your bloody sides as he desperately shouted your name over and over. Your black dress was stained with crimson. Your eyes stared at the night sky, glassy and cold.

He’d screamed. He’d begged for you to come back, tears streaming across his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to yours, a wave of darkness shrouding his mind as it registered: the light of his life was gone.

Dead.

Why you? Why’d it have to be you?

They’d had to drag him away when the ambulance arrived, but Minho knew it was too late. His parents had come, whispered comforting words into his ears, words he didn’t even here.

You can’t leave. Please don’t leave me.

The funeral was held just over a month later. The day after the ceremony, he found himself at that same bridge. He faced it alone, accompanied only by a single rose, and so early in the morning that wispy fog still covered the bridge. The only sound was the rushing river and the faint noise of traffic. Minho could barely hear it as he looked down at the pavement. You’d stood here, alive and happy, a month and a half ago. You’d look at the stars, and Minho had almost believed a future with you was possible.

But you’d been ripped away from him. You’d been ripped away from everything. You hadn’t deserved that.

He gripped the flower in his hand tighter, blood red petals ruffled gently from the wind, as he approached the railing. He barely made it a couple steps before collapsing shakily to the cement.

The screeching of burning tires echoed in his head over, and over, and over again.

Minho shakily set the crimson rose atop the bridge, bending his head as his eyes squeezed shut against tears that poured down his face anyways. His body shook with silent sobs; his fingers dug into the rose stem, paying no attention to the thorns cutting his flesh and leaving small pools of blood to stain his skin red.

His words echoed into the mist. “I’m sorry I never told you how much I love you.”

———

In that statement was fear but also defiance, and as you grew older it became clear that you had no intention of giving into the sickness or letting it control you. In spite of frequent hospital visits and medication, you faced each new day with a bravery Seungmin admired. Even as your strength slowly degraded, a walking cane becoming a necessity, you continued to enjoy life as deeply as you could. As small kids, Seungmin taught you how to cook and you taught him drawing tips-although he was lousy, especially compared to you. You bought him countless tins of tea bags and he got you a variety of different coffee brews, and you became inseparable.

Over a decade after the diagnosis, in your Senior high school year, Seungmin had found you sitting on your porch swing, still and quiet in the seat, your walking cane resting on your lap-the walking cane that had been abandoned for a wheelchair the day before. He came beside you, rocking the swing as he clumsily sat. The trees rustled in a faint, cool wind. Small cherry blossoms floated past, a clear sign of spring's arrival. He glanced sideways at you, and was surprised to find a faint redness to your eyes. Had you been crying? He rarely, rarely saw you cry.

“What is it?” He questioned, slow and cautious.

“What’s going to happen to me, Seungmin?” You blurted suddenly, making Seungmin startle at the abrupt words.

“What?”

“I can’t help but think of all the things I might miss if I...” he hated the way you trailed off, hated the thought of death. You looked worriedly at him, “Parties? Travelling? What if I don’t get the chance?”

He stared back at you, noting the bleakness in your eyes, the slouch in your posture. The nervous tap-tapping of your fingers against the cane in your lap. He had no idea how to comfort you.

Instead, he rested his head back in the seat, letting his feet sway the swing. He at last answered with honesty. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He avoided your gaze, worried about what he’d see in your eyes. Sadness? Fear? But when he finally looked back up, it was that familiar fire reignited. It gave him words to add. “But we are going to face it together.”

He reached out, tugging a strand of your hair, smiling slightly at the surprised expression on your face.

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of your lips. “You mean that?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“No more percents to be had.” You murmured, before yelping as Seungmin attacked your head with his hands, thoroughly messing your hair.

“Exactly.” He agreed, grinning as you stuck out your tongue at him. “Idiot.”

“Meanie.”

“You love me.”

“Mmm.” You turned your head away, but Seungmin still caught the grin on your face. “Sure I do.”

April brought more and more cherry blossoms, gently drifting through the wind, your laughter carried with it. You loved spring, Seungmin knew, the dazzling colours of the flowers blooming, the growing warmth, the feeling of hope you found in the season. Your spirits were contagious, and he found himself smiling at the tiny, pale pink petals that fell from the trees. You spent most of your free time exploring the city, often finding small cafes where you could sit outside and enjoy the scenery with steaming mugs in your hands.

“So which flower is your favourite?” Seungmin asked one day, sitting outside a tiny coffee shop amongst the falling petals and the faint laughter of friends and the smell of oncoming rain.

You sipped your steaming coffee loaded with cream, pausing before answering. “I think it’s obvious.” You gestured to the pink cherry blossoms fluttering through the wind.

Seungmin chuckled softly. “Why cherry blossoms, then?”

You shrugged, eyes on the scenery as you answered simply, “They’re heralds of spring. And they make me think of you.”

Seungmin shook his head a couple times, not quite knowing how to respond. You simply smiled at the falling cherry blossoms, a bright twinkle in your eyes.

They make me think of you.

They made him think of you, too. You echoed their beauty that painted the springtime with vibrant colour and fragrant smells. And he swore you had hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at them.

Seeing that gaze now made him smile. He was glad to see you happy, glad to see you hopeful. The past winter and the busyness of school had been tough on you, and he was relieved spring had lifted your spirits.

Of course, each day brought different emotions with it. Sometimes you called him over the phone, and he was troubled by the weariness of your voice.

“I don’t know how much time I have.” You’d told Seungmin one day, voice cracking through the speaker of his phone. He sensed, rather than saw your resolve in spite of the small shake in your tone. “I just know that I want to really live, for as long as I have.”

“So how do we do that?” Seungmin answered, a challenge in his voice. He heard your small laugh crackle through the speaker.

“We make the world our adventure.”

He learned to love the springtime with you, and grew to hate it because of you.

He loved it because in it, you taught him to enjoy the small things. The smallest of smiles, the lightest of laughs. The cans of coke on Saturday evenings when you’d pull Seungmin out on your front porch to catch a glimpse of the moon and the stars. The days he’d sacrifice his studying just to bring you out to a field of wildflowers, knowing just how much you loved them. You’d make the two of you flower crowns while he’d read a book of poetry, silky words joining the melody of radiant songbirds and loudly chirping crickets. He remembered the time a large grasshopper had landed in your hair, and you’d almost fallen out of your seat trying to rid the pest, Seungmin swatting it away with a fair amount of caution. You’d teasingly blamed it on his poetry dictation, to which he’d called you a scaredy-cat. Then you’d thanked him begrudgingly, and he’d continued reading with a smile on his face.

He swore that particular spring with you was the happiest of his life. You enjoyed countless days of sunshine under those cherry blossoms, and under a gently warming sun. Reading in those meadows, staring up at those stars, cramming for tests after weekends of procrastination. He shared so many wonderful moments with you, and found himself content to enjoy life right where he was, embracing every day as a new adventure.

Rainy days followed, but Seungmin loved those too. You would sprawl beside him on the couch, curled up in a blanket to watch raindrops pour down the windows. You’d pick droplets to race, although you often got distracted after the first round. The winner teased the loser, and a play fight would break out. And amongst the laughter and pure joy Seungmin would forget all about the rain.

Through it all you bloomed in the rain and the sunshine, underneath the watchful cherry blossoms. All the while, Seungmin pushed away the thought of the future-of how long he really had with you. What mattered was now; what mattered was your words: “I want to really live, for as long as I have.”

So Seungmin made it his belief, too. You fought for a future every day, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do the same.

Summer came, and your smiles remained intact. Warm beaches and flowering meadows awaited new possibilities in light of your freedom from school and its responsibilities-picnics and shared ice cream and stargazing. You were his spring in every season, so full of life and energy and spirit. He woke up to find everyday coloured by your presence, and he gave every bit of himself to you in return. You shared so many memories as the days grew shorter and orange and red painted the trees. Seungmin offered you his windbreaker jacket and didn’t mind when you didn’t return it, wearing it every time he met you in the cool autumn breeze.

You visited the hospital less and less, each daily victory spurring Seungmin’s hope that you mirrored. You spoke up one day, telling him with your head safely tucked on his shoulder while gentle r&b floated through the room, “I’m fighting this. I’m defeating this, one step at a time.”

Seungmin allowed a small smile, but it was like you could sense his worry. You pulled away slightly to look at him, wide eyes determined and full of a crackling electricity. “I’m not giving up. So don't give up on me, okay?”

Seungmin watched you for a moment, before finding your hand. He squeezed it gently. “Trust me, I won’t.” He promised softly, and this time you seemed to believe him.

Maybe because he was finally believing it, too.

Maybe it was the coming of spring that seemed to bring a bit of your shared hope back. The landscape turned from white to green, welcoming the earliest crocuses and bluebells. You found the biggest ones to press and save in a book, deciding this would be the year you collected as many flowers as you could, a little treasury of spring in an old, worn book. It was perfect.

You were tired in the beginning of April, but Seungmin didn’t let that dampen his spirits, or yours. You added tulips and daffodils and magnolias to the book, spent way too much money on citrus teas, and talked about upcoming college studies and the possibility of studying abroad. One day, he convinced you to let him take you somewhere for a surprise. You grumbled, saying you were tired and didn’t like surprises that much anyways, but eventually let him drag you outside.

The weather was cool and smelled faintly of rain, but Seungmin promised you wouldn’t be out long. He drove far away from the city, out into the rolling hills before stopping along the roadside.

“You want me to go up there?” You exclaimed with eyes on the closest towering hill, only for Seungmin to shake his head softly, opening the car door for you.

“I want us to go up there. Trust me.”

You grumbled again, but Seungmin caught the hint of a smile on your lips. “Fine.”

He gathered you carefully in his arms and started to climb.

It was tedious, but completely worth it. He arrived in front of a white gazebo, gazing out at the fields that stretched far to the horizon and were absolutely covered in flowers, every shape and size. Double worth it, because the smile that pulled at your lips was so wide he thought it might split your cheeks.

“Holy…” you breathed, words obviously failing. Seungmin didn’t blame you. He’d found the site only a couple days ago, and had known you’d love it. He’d vowed to bring you here as soon as possible just to see that smile.

He helped you sit on one of the benches inside the gazebo, your eyes still peeled on the scenery before you. “It’s incredible.” You murmured, hand clutching Seungmin’s. He pulled affectionately at your hair, teasingly saying, “I’m the best friend you could ever ask for, right?”

“Yeah. You are.” You responded with a small eye roll. Your voice sounded a bit smaller when you added. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” There was raw honesty in your tone.

“You’ll never have to know.” Seungmin promised as he sat beside you, smiling a bit when you sighed and leaned against him. He could feel you trembling slightly; he wondered how long you should be out here. He quickly removed his jacket and tucked it over your shoulders, to which you giggled. “Ridiculously courteous, as always.”

“A jerk, as always.”

“You love me.”

“If you say so.”

You poked him in the side, making him laugh and swat your hand away in protest. “Okay, okay. I have only endless and overwhelming affection for the one and only y/n. Better?”

“Much.”

He rested his cheek on the top of your head, and let his mind wander. The air was so refreshing this far from the city, and it was so nice to share it with you. He thought back to when you were just kids, sitting amongst the dandelions at the park nearby your house. You’d always blow the white fluffs into his hair.

His best friend. His closest companion. More than that, but he didn’t know what word to describe it. It wasn’t romance, it wasn't friendship; it was something deeper. Like finding his twin puzzle piece, and just knowing you fit perfectly together.

Like a soulmate.

In hindsight, he wished you could have stayed forever in that moment. He wished he could have had longer. He had yet to tease you about all your future crushes. He had yet to travel abroad with you, to find new flowers to press into your shared book. But alas your time had run out.

He’d panicked when your body fell slack next to him, collapsing out of your seat onto the hard cement of the gazebo floor. Seungmin saw your eyes rolled back, limbs splayed over the floor, and felt his world tilt, spinning like an out of control merry-go-round. He couldn’t feel your pulse; you were barely breathing. He called for an ambulance, he called for your parents, and he prayed and prayed to the heavens as he performed CPR: please don’t take her. Please, please don’t let her die.

His prayers were met with the silent world around him, broken only by the scared murmurs falling from his lips, the sound of his breaths as he counted, and fearful pounding of his heart.

Don’t die. Don’t die.

It took too long for the ambulance to come. It took too long to drive to the hospital, where you were rushed into one of the closest rooms. Seungmin halted outside, finding your teary eyed parents clutching one another. He ran to the door, left open in the chaos, eyes wide with fear.

He hated seeing you like this. He hated seeing you fighting while he was standing helplessly at the sidelines. His heart ached with an unfathomable pain that wrenched and twisted his heart. A defibrillator was charged, the doctor yelled “clear!”; Seungmin couldn’t watch any longer.

Time of death: 11:11 am.

It didn’t process it at first. It felt like a dream when your parents broke down into tears, and the doctors cleared out of the room, murmuring condolences. His feet acted on instinct next, carrying him to where you lay. Sun from a nearby window fell over your pasty skin, and Seungmin glanced out at the world.

“Look.” He murmured hoarsely, clouded eyes turned out towards the horizon. Small pink petals appeared in the gray sky, bringing a bit of colour to the scenery. “The cherry blossoms are starting to bloom.”

He looked back at your closed eyes, slightly parted lips. The world was utterly silent, save for Seungmin’s own shaky breaths that weren’t joined by yours.

Gone.

It took him a moment to find the strength to move closer and softly press his lips to your forehead, a small kiss of farewell. He couldn’t hold back his whimper of pain; his heart shattered in that very instant, crumbling to ashes at the sight of his closest friend, his light and hope, his whole world taken away. Tears poured down his cheeks, falling onto your ashen face as he kissed your forehead once more. “Thank you for everything.” He whispered, croaked.

He collapsed into sobs as utter loneliness and despair consumed him.

And so he learned to hate spring; because without you it felt empty. The cherry blossoms lost their beauty, the pale moon lost its glow. Rainy gray days no longer made him smile, because who would watch the rain with him now?

He healed, but never fully. He’d loved you far too dearly for that; the girl who’d been with him through thick and thin, the friend that had been his other half, closer than a sibling, more perfect than an angel. The ghost of your memory was seen everywhere he went-in the sky, in the trees, in the streets. His thoughts forever turned to you when the first cherry blossoms bloomed, and he could imagine you watching them as you always had, with such happiness in your eyes. What kept him smiling was knowing you were in a better place; a place without sorrow and pain, free of all suffering.