𝓵𝓮𝔁

NOTE ⇾‌ all warnings are listed on each of the individual fics!

♡ - my favourites!

☁ - fluff

♛ - smut

❅ - angst

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NCT

Lee Donghyuck

‘zoom shenanigans’  ♡ + ♛

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ boyfriend!haechan | smut | ‌1.6k+ words ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ you don’t quite know how hyuck convinced you to sit on him while in a class zoom call

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‘mistletoe & mischief’  ☁

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ boyfriend!haechan | fluff | ‌1.1k+ words ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ moving into your first apartment with your boyfriend is stressful enough, let alone doing it four days before christmas

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‘long night’  ♛

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ boyfriend!haechan | smut | ‌2.1k+ words ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌  you knew you shouldn’t have danced like that at the bar, not with all of his friends there.

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'drowning in the distance’  ☁ + ❅

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ terminal illness au! series ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ confined to a life of detachment from the only people on earth who understand them, the patients of saint evangeline’s can only watch as those around them drown in themselves, in more ways than one, while they themselves drown, in a much more literal sense. haechan is tired, tired of moving from place to place with no real chance of getting better. y/n is tired too, tired of living solely for the purpose of staying alive. maybe, just maybe, despite the space that separates them, they can guide each other to a life worth living.

XXXI | Y/N

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“What happened to winging it, Y/N? Doing it ‘Yeji Style’?” Karina says, nudging me playfully. I glance up from my detailed itinerary, laughing as I carefully fold it and put it into my back pocket.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day.” I smirk at her and Tzuyu, proud of my Vatican City joke. “Get it? Rome?” Tzuyu laughs, rolling her eyes.

“New lungs, same lame sense of humour. I mean, really, they couldn’t have replaced your, I don’t know, your... funnybox while you were out cold?” I take a deep breath at her words, my lungs effortlessly expanding and contracting. It’s still so wonderful, I can hardly believe it.

 These past ten months have been bittersweet, to say the least. My new lungs are amazing, the physical pain of the surgery gradually giving way to a whole new life. My parents are back together, and we’re all finally starting to mend, too. Like my new lungs, it hasn’t fixed everything that’s broken. The losses of Yeji and Jaemin, as well as Renjun, are pains I don’t think I’ll ever fully get over. Just like I know that no matter what, some part of me will never get over Haechan. And that’s okay. The pain reminds me that they were here, that I’m alive. Thanks to Lee Donghyuck I have so much more life to live. So much more time. Aside from his love, it was the greatest gift I could ever receive. And I can’t believe now that I almost didn’t take it. 

I thank Mark, the original owner of my lungs, every second of every day. It felt weird at first, having something that belonged so absolutely to another person inside of my body, breathing inside of me, for me, but I adjusted. I met his family a few months after the transplant, allowing them to engulf me the way that they didn’t get to with their son, their brother, to say goodbye. They told me everything about the boy whose lungs were now a part of me. They told me how Mark had been such an awkward kid, but how his laughter lit up the room, how people just gravitated towards him. His parents showed me photos, and we laughed together, my new lungs expelling borrowed air, and we cried together, my new lungs wracking with sobs. Mark had been involved in a car accident, a drunk driver striking his small four-door on the highway after spinning out; a head-on collision at 80 miles an hour. They told me that he’d felt no pain, that it hadn’t hurt. It was instantaneous, just like it had been for Yeji, just like she told me. I told Mark’s parents about Yeji. They said that she sounded like the kind of person Mark would love, that he would have liked a little more spontaneity. Who knows, maybe Mark and Yej will find each other… wherever they are.

I gaze around the airport at the high ceilings and the wide windows, excitement coursing through my veins as we walk to gate 17 for our flight to Rome. A trip I can finally take. To Vatican City and the Sistine Chapel and the first of so many things I want to do and see. It isn’t with Yeji, and I certainly won’t be crossing off that... particular item on Haechan’s bucket list, but just going makes me feel closer to them both. I realize as we walk that I’m setting the pace, Karina and Tzuyu following right behind. I would have keeled over from this much walking a few months ago, but now it feels like I could just keep going and going.

“Everyone in for a picture!” Karina says when we find our gate, holding up her phone as we squeeze together, smiling big for the camera. After the flash we pull apart and I glance down at my phone to see a picture from my mum of my dad eating breakfast, his eggs and bacon in the shape of a sad face with the caption:

MISS YOU ALREADY, Y/N! Send pictures!

I laugh, nudging Karina. She looks down at my phone, eyes scanning over the messages as she snorts.

“Hey, make sure you send that to my parents. They’ll find that absolutely…” My voice trails off as I see that her mouth is open in shock, and she’s staring at Tzuyu.

“What? Did I do that thing with my face again?” Tzuyu asks, sighing loudly. “I don’t know why I keep smiling like that-” Karina holds up her hand to cut her off, her eyes flicking urgently to a big group of people waiting to board their plane, finally focusing on something behind me. Tzuyu inhales sharply. I turn around, following her gaze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as my eyes travel down the long line of people.

My heart begins to beat faster when my eyes land on Johnny. And then I know. I know he’s there even before I see him. 

 Lee Donghyuck.

 I stand, frozen in place as he looks up and our eyes lock, the familiar deep brown that I’ve dreamed about for so long almost knocking me off my feet. He’s still sick, portable oxygen slung over his shoulder, his face gaunt and tired. It’s almost a physical pain to see him like this, to feel my lungs filling anew when his can’t.

But then his mouth turns up into that boxy smile, his eyes glittering, and the world melts away. It’s Haechan. It’s Hyuck. It’s really him. He’s sick, but alive. We both are.

 I take a deep, unhindered breath and walk over to him, stopping exactly six feet away from him. His eyes are warm as he takes me in, his grin not faltering in the slightest as he scans me from head to toe. No portable oxygen, no difficulty breathing, no nose cannula, no ‘drowning in my own mucus’ as he so poetically described it so long ago.

I’m practically a different Y/N than I was 10 months ago.

Except for one thing.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding, my lips pulling upward. I grin cheekily at him and take just that one more stolen step, until we’re five feet apart.

FIN

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XXX | Donghyuck

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TEN MONTHS LATER

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The speaker in the airport terminal crackles to life, a muffled voice breaking through the morning chatter and the suitcase wheels clunking over the tiled floor. I pull out one of my earbuds to hear the voice, worried about a gate change and having to sprint cross-airport with a pair of shitty lungs.

“Your attention please. All passengers for Swed-Air flight 066 to Stockholm...” I put my earbud back in. That’s not my flight. I’m not going to Sweden until December.

 Settling back into the armchair, I pull up YouTube for the millionth time, making my way, as usual, to Y/N’s latest video. If YouTube kept track of individual views, the police definitely would have been sent to my house by now, I’d seem like such a stalker. But I don’t care, because this video is about us. And when I press play, she tells our story.

“Human touch. Our first form of communication.” She says, her voice loud and clear. She takes a deep breath, her new lungs working wonderfully. That breath is my favourite part of the whole video. There’s no struggle. No wheezing. It’s perfect and smooth. Effortless. “Safety, security, comfort, all in the gentle caress of a finger, or the brush of lips on a soft cheek.” She says, and I look up from my iPad to the crowded airport around me, people coming and going, heavy bags in tow, but even so, she’s right. From the long hugs at arrival, to the reassuring hands on shoulders in the security line, even a young couple, arms around each other, waiting at the gate, touch is everywhere. “We need that touch from the one we love, almost as much as we need air to breathe. I never understood the importance of touch, his touch… until I couldn’t have it.” I can see her. Five feet away from me, that night at the pool, walking to see the lights, on the other side of the glass that last night, always that longing between us to close the gap. I pause the video just to take her in. She looks… so much better than I ever saw her in person. No portable oxygen. No dark circles under her eyes. She was always beautiful to me, but now she is free. She is alive. 

Every single day I still find myself wishing I hadn’t left, reliving the moment of walking away, my legs like cement blocks, being pulled like a magnet back to her window. I think that pull, that hurt, will always be there, but all I have to do is see her like this to know it was worth it a million times over. A notification appears on my screen from her app, telling me to take my midmorning meds. I smile at the dancing pill bottle emoji. It’s like a portable Y/N that I always have with me, looking over my shoulder, reminding me to do my treatments. Reminding me of the importance of more time.

“You ready to go, man?” Johnny says, nudging me as they open the door to start loading the plane to Brazil. I give him a big smile, down my meds dry, and slide my pillbox back into my backpack, zipping it up.

“Born ready.” I’m finally going to see the places I’ve dreamed of. I have a check-up in every city, which was one of three conditions my mum put in place before letting me go. The other two were simple. I have to send her as many pictures as possible, and Skype her every Monday evening, no matter what. Aside from that, I can finally live my life how I want. And, for once, that includes fighting right alongside her.

We’ve finally found our common ground.

 I stand, taking a deep breath as I pull the strap of my portable oxygen farther up on my thin shoulder.  But the breath gets caught in my throat almost as soon as I inhale. Because through all the airport chatter and chaos, just above the rattling of the mucus in my lungs, I hear my favourite sound in the world.

Her laugh.

It tinkles like bells, and I pull out my phone immediately, certain I’ve left the video playing in my pocket. But the screen is dark, and the sound isn’t tinny or distant. It’s just a few feet away. My legs know I should just go, board my flight, keep moving. But my eyes are already searching. I have to know. It takes me about six seconds to spot her, and I’m not even surprised that when I do, her eyes are already on mine.

XXIX | Y/N

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 I open my eyes. I stare at the ceiling, everything coming into focus, the pain from the surgery radiating across my entire body; my chest thrumming with the agony of the new organs inflating and deflating inside of it. 

I try to look around, but I’m too weak. There’s people here, but I don’t see him. I try to speak but can’t because of the ventilator. My eyes land on my mother’s face and she holds up a package.

“Y/N?” My mum whispers, holding it out to me. “This is for you.” A present? That’s odd. I struggle to rip open the paper, but my body is weak. She leans over to help me unveil a black sketchbook inside, the words on the front reading:

FIVE FEET APART.

It’s from Hyuck.

 I flip through the pages, looking at cartoon after cartoon of our story, the colours jumping out at me. A younger version of myself, clutching Junnie tightly to my chest, and then the version of me at the lake, the small plush resting on my lap as I look out across the frozen water; me dragging my luggage across the hall that first day on the ward, the bag much bigger than myself; us arguing in front of the NICU, my mask pulled down as I glare at him; us atop of the roof, him balancing atop of the ledge like he had that day; the two of us standing on either side of the pool cue, fingers wrapped tightly around the wood; us floating underwater, eyes wide open and grinning at each other; the filled table at his birthday party, all of our friends gathered around; me spinning around and around on the icy pond, nearly falling over; and then there are two realistic drawings. One is a drawing of me, that day from the gym when he’d asked about my master list and I’d finally agreed to let him draw me. He drew me as though I were beautiful, my skin somehow glowing as I look out across the courtyard below, my hair somehow less frizzy than usual, my eyes brighter... happier. 

And then there’s a drawing of a handsome face, his bright smile leaping off the page and filling my heart with a mixture of love and grief. Jaemin. His features are perfect, each detail replicated as though it were a photo, the stripes of his favourite jersey peeking out from the bottom of the page. I run my fingertips gently across his graphite cheeks, tears welling up in my eyes. I wish you could be here with me, Jaem. I really do.

My shaky fingers reach to turn the page once more, for the final time, as on the last page is the two of us. In my small cartoon hand is a balloon, the top bursting, and hundreds of stars pouring out of it, rolling across the page to Hyuck. He’s holding a scroll and quill, the words “Haechan’s Master List” written on it.

And below, a single item.

“#1: Love Y/N Forever.”

 I make an attempt at a teary smile and look around at all the faces in the room. Then why isn’t he here? Irene takes a step forward, propping an iPad up on my lap. I frown, confused. She presses play.

 “My beautiful, bossy Y/N.” Lee Donghyuck says, his face appearing on the screen, his hair its usual charming mess, his smile as boxy as ever. “I guess it’s true what that book of yours says—the soul knows no time. These past few weeks will last forever for me.” He takes a deep breath, smiling with those deep brown eyes. “My only regret is that you never got to see your lights.” I look up, surprised, as the lights in my room suddenly go out. I see Irene standing by the switch.

 Suddenly the courtyard outside my recovery room window is ablaze, the entire space filled with the twinkling holiday lights from the park, twisting around the lampposts and the trees. I gasp at they cast a glow into my room. Doyoung and Irene unlock the bed, rolling it right up to the window so I can see. And there, on the other side of the glass, standing under a canopy of those beautiful lights, is Hyuck. My eyes widen as I realize what’s happening.

 He’s leaving. Hyuck is leaving.

 I grip at the sheets as a different kind of pain takes over. He smiles at me, looking down and pulling out his phone. Behind me, my phone starts ringing. Taeil brings it to me, putting it on speaker. I open my mouth to speak, to say something, to tell him to stay, but nothing comes out. The ventilator tube hisses. I try to somehow tell him through my look not to leave. That I need him. He gives me a faint smile, and I see the tears in his glittering honey eyes.

“Finally, I’ve got you speechless.” He says, his voice pouring out of the phone. He raises his hand, putting it up against the glass of the window. I weakly raise my own, resting it on top of his, the glass just the latest thing keeping us apart.

 I want to scream at the top of these new, godforsaken lungs.

Stay.

 “People in the movies are always saying, ‘You have to love someone enough to let them go.’” He shakes his head, swallowing, struggling to speak. “I always thought that was such bullshit. But seeing you almost die…” His voice trails off, and my fingers curl against the cool window, wanting to smash it, but I can barely manage a gentle knock. “In that moment nothing else mattered to me. Nothing. Except your life.” He presses harder too, his voice shaking as he continues. “The only thing I want is to be with you. But I need for you to be safe. Safe from me.” He fights to continue, tears streaming down his face as it blurs, tears welling in my own eyes. “I don’t want to leave you, but I love you too much to stay.” He laughs through his tears, shaking his head. “God, the movies were right.”

 He leans his head against the window where my hand rests. I can feel it, even through the glass. I can feel him.

“I will love you forever.” He says, looking up so we’re face-to-face, the both of us silently seeing the same pain in each other’s eyes. My heart slowly cracks under the new scar. My breath fogs up the glass, and one more time I lift a shaking hand, a singular finger dragging against the glass to draw a heart. “Can you please close your eyes?” He asks, his voice breaking. “I’m not gonna be able to walk away from you if you’re looking at me.” But I refuse. He looks up, seeing the defiance in my face. But the certainty in his surprises me. “Don’t worry about me.” He says, smiling through the tears. “If I stop breathing tomorrow, know that I wouldn’t change a thing.” I love him. And he’s about to leave my life forever so that I can have a life to live. “Please close your eyes.” He begs, his jaw tightening. “Let me go.” I take a moment to memorize his face, every inch of it, and finally I force my eyes shut, squeezing them tightly as sobs wrack my body, fighting with the ventilator.

 He’s leaving.

 Hyuck is leaving.

 When I open my eyes, he will be gone.

 Tears stream down my face as I feel him walk away, much farther than the five feet that we agreed on. That was always between us.

  I open my eyes slowly, some part of me still hoping he’ll be on the other side of the glass. But all I see are the twinkling lights in the courtyard and a town car in the distance, disappearing into the night.

XXVIII | Donghyuck

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I fall weakly back onto my gurney, my entire body aching. She’s getting new lungs. Y/N is getting new lungs. Through the pain, my heart thumps happily. My mum’s hand wraps gently around my arm as Irene puts the oxygen mask over my face.

 And then I remember.

No.

 I sit bolt upright, my chest searing as I shout down the hallway.

“Dr. Moon!” In the distance, he turns back to look at me, frowning, and nodding for Doyoung to follow him while the attending nurse keeps rolling Y/N through into her surgery. I look at the both of them before I look down at my hands.

“I gave her mouth-to-mouth.” The room goes absolutely still as everyone processes what that means. She probably has B. cepacia. And it’s all my fault. “She wasn’t breathing.” I say, swallowing. “I had to. I’m so sorry.” I look up, into Doyoung’s eyes, and then over at Dr. Moon.

“You did good, Haechan.” He says, nodding at me, reassuring me. “You saved her life, okay? And if she contracted B. cepacia, we’ll deal with it.” He looks at Doyoung, and then at Irene, and then back at me. “But if we don’t use those lungs, they’re wasted. We’re doing the surgery.”

 They leave, and I slowly sink back onto the gurney, the weight of everything pressing down on my entire body. Exhaustion fills every part of me. I shiver, my rib cage aching from the cold. I meet my mum’s eyes as Irene puts the O2 mask back over my mouth, watching as my mother reaches out to gently stroke my hair like she did when I was younger. I close my eyes, breathing in and out, and let the pain and the cold give way to sleep.

  I glance at my watch. Four hours. It’s been four hours since they took her back. Shaking my leg nervously, I sit in the waiting room, staring anxiously out the window at the snow. I shiver despite myself, reliving the icy shock of the water from just a few hours ago. My mum kept trying to get me to go back to my room, put on more layers, but I want to be here. Need to be here. As close to Y/N as I can be. I pull my eyes away from the window, hearing footsteps coming steadily closer and closer. Looking over, I see Y/N’s mother sitting down in the chair two away from mine, a cup of coffee clutched in her hands.

“Thank you.” She says finally, her eyes meeting mine. “For saving her life.” I nod, fixing my nose cannula, the oxygen hissing noisily out.

“She wasn’t breathing. Anyone would have-”

“I mean the lungs.” She says, her eyes traveling to the window. “Her father and I, we just couldn’t…” Her voice trails off, but I know what she’s saying. She shakes her head, looking over at the clock hanging above the OR doors. “Just a few more hours.” I smile at her.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be out making a ‘Sixty-Six-Step Lung Transplant Recovery Plan’ in no time.” She laughs, and a comfortable silence settles over the both of us until she goes off to get some lunch.

 I sit alone, still nervous, alternating between texting Johnny and Wendy and staring at the wall, images of Y/N swirling around my head, separate moments over the past few weeks jumping out at me. I want to draw it all. The first day we met, Y/N in her makeshift hazmat suit, the birthday dinner. Each memory more precious than the next. The elevator doors slide open, and Doyoung, as if he had heard my thoughts, emerges carrying an armful of my art supplies.

“Staring at the wall can get a bit boring after a while.” He says, handing everything off to me. I laugh. Couldn’t be any truer.

“Any news?” I ask him, desperate to know how the surgery is going. But, more important, the results of the culture. I need to know I didn’t give Y/N B. cepacia. That those lungs will give her the time she wants. Doyoung shakes his head.

“Nothing yet.” He glances over at the OR doors, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you the second I hear something.”

 I open to the first blank page in my sketchbook and start to draw, the memories coming to life again in front of my eyes. Slowly, noon comes, the door busting open as Y/N’s parents come back, Tzuyu and Karina trailing a few feet behind, cafeteria food containers piled high in everyone’s hands.

“Haechan!” Karina says, running over to give me a one-arm hug, careful not to drop her food. I try not to wince, my body still weak from last night.

“We didn’t know what you’d want, so we brought you a sandwich.” Tzuyu says as they all sit down in the chairs next to me, Y/N’s mum opening her purse to pull out a variety of snacks of her own, placing them all upon the table beside me. I smile gratefully, my stomach growling its appreciation.

“Thank you.” Looking up from my drawing, I watch all of them as they eat, talking about what Y/N will do now, their words overflowing with love for her. She’s the glue that holds them all together. Her parents. Karina and Tzuyu. Every single one of them needs her. I pull my eyes away and draw, each page filled with another picture of our story.

 The hours swim together; Tzuyu and Karina leaving, Doyoung and Irene coming and going, but I keep drawing, wanting every little detail to be remembered forever. I look over at her parents, her mum fast asleep on her dad’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her as his eyes slowly close. I smile to myself. Seems like Y/N isn’t the only one to get a second chance today.

 The OR doors swing open, and Dr. Moon comes through with a small entourage of surgeons. My eyes widen and I reach out, nudging her parents awake, and we all stand, studying their faces anxiously. Did she make it? Is she okay? Taeil pulls down his surgical mask, smiling, and the three of us sigh with relief.

“Looks great.” One of the surgeons says.

“Oh, thank god!” Y/N’s mum pulls her dad into a tight hug. I laugh with them, all of us elated.

 Y/N made it.

Y/N has new lungs.

  I plunk down on my bed, absolutely worn out but happier than I’ve ever been. Looking up, I meet my mum’s gaze as she sits in a chair next to my bed.

“Are you warm enough?” She asks me for the millionth time since she got back to the hospital. I look down at my two layers of sweatpants and three layers of shirts I put on to appease her, a smile creeping onto my face.

“I’m practically sweating at this point.” I tug at the neck of my hoodie. There’s a knock and Doyoung peers around the door, meeting my eyes as he holds up a sheet full of test results. I’m paralyzed; his eyes aren’t giving away anything of what I’m about to hear. He pauses, leaning against the door as he scans the paper.

“The bacterial cultures will take a few days to grow, and there’s still a chance it will grow in her sputum. But as of now…” He smiles at me, shaking his head. “She’s clean. She didn’t get it. I don’t know how in the hell, but she didn’t.”

 Oh my god. As of now, she’s B. cepacia free. As of now, that’s enough.

 “What about Haechan?” My mum asks from behind me. “The Cevaflomalin?” I meet Doyoung’s gaze, a look of understanding passing between us. He swallows, glancing back down at the papers in his hand, the results of a test I already know the answer to.

“It’s not working for me, is it?” I ask. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head.

“No. It’s not.” I try not to look at my mother, but I can feel the distress on her face. The sadness. I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it gently. For the first time, I think I’m actually as disappointed as she is. I look up at Doyoung remorsefully.

“I’m so sorry for all of this.” He shakes his head and sighs.

“No, Haechan.” He trails off, shrugging and smiling faintly at me as he finally calls me by the name which he had never before. “Love is love.”

 Doyoung leaves and I hold my mum’s hand while she cries, knowing she did all she could do. It’s no one’s fault. She eventually falls asleep, and I sit in a chair by the window, watching as the sun slowly sets on the horizon. The lights at the park that Y/N never got to see switching on as another day ends.

  I wake up in the middle of the night, restless. Sliding into my shoes, I sneak out of my room, heading down to the first floor, to the recovery room where Y/N sleeps. I watch her from the open door, her small body hooked up to large machines that do the job of breathing for her. She made it. I inhale, letting the air fill my lungs the best it can, the discomfort tugging at my chest, but I also feel relief. Relief that Y/N gets to wake up a few hours from now and have at least five more wonderful years, filled with whatever her to-do list has on it. And maybe, if she’s feeling fearless, a few things not on there, like going to see some holiday lights at 1am. When I exhale, though, I feel something else. A need to keep all those years safe. I tighten my jaw, and even though everything in me wants to fight it, I know exactly what I have to do.

   I look around the room at the small army I’ve assembled. Doyoung, Irene, Chaeyoung (the nurse’s assistant on the CF ward), Dr Moon, Johnny, Wendy, Tzuyu, Karina, Y/N’s parents. It’s the most ragtag crew I’ve ever seen, standing there, staring at the boxes laid out on my bed, each of them with a separate but important role. I hold up my drawing, showing the intricate plan I spent most of the morning working on, every detail perfectly accounted for and coinciding with a different person and a task. Y/N would be proud. I hear my mum’s voice from the hallway, loud and firm and getting stuff done as she does her part. I shiver, thinking about when she uses that tone on me.

“So…” I say, looking up at all of them. “We have to do this together.” My eyes land on Wendy, who wipes away a tear as Johnny hugs her close. I look away, at Irene, at Tzuyu and Karina, at Chaeyoung, at Y/N’s parents. “Is everyone in?” Irene nods enthusiastically, and there’s a chorus of agreement. Then everyone looks at Doyoung, who is dead silent.

“Oh, hell yes! I’m in. I’m definitely in.” He says, smiling, the two of us on the same page for the first time probably ever.

“How long will Y/N be sedated?” I ask him. He glances down at his watch. “Probably a few more hours.” His eyes scan all the boxes, the list of each of our tasks. “We’ve got plenty of time.” Perfect.

 I start handing out the boxes, pairing each person with their job.

“All right, Karina and Tzuyu,” I say, giving them their task list and joint box. “You two are going to be working with Johnny and Wendy on the-” My mum ends her call, poking her head back in the room.

“It’s done. They said yes.” I knew she could do it. I shake my head.

“You really are scary sometimes, you know that?” She smiles back at me.

“I’ve had some good practice.” I chuckle as I hand out the rest of the boxes, and everyone heads out into the hallway to start getting everything ready. My mum lingers back, peeking her head inside the doorway. “You need anything?” I shake my head.

“I’ll be there soon. There’s just one more thing I need to do first.”

 The door closes, and I turn to my desk, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and taking out my coloured pencils. I’ve been stuck on the same drawing. A drawing of Y/N, spinning around on that icy pond, moments before I told her I loved her. I keep trying to get every small detail right. The moonlight shining off her face. Her hair trailing behind her as she spins. Pure joy filling every feature. Tears fill my eyes as I stare at the drawing, and I brush them away with my arm, knowing that for once, I’m doing the absolute right thing.

   I stand in Y/N’s doorway again, watching the steady rise and fall of her bandaged chest, her new lungs working perfectly. The now-dry Junnie is tucked safely under her arm, her face peaceful as she sleeps. I love her. I used to always be searching for something. Searching from every rooftop for something that would give me a purpose. And now I’ve found it.

 “She’s waking up.” Her dad says as Y/N begins to stir. I look up as her mum crosses the room, her eyes beginning to water as she looks at me.

“Thank you, Haechan.” I nod as I reach into my bag with a gloved hand and pull out a wrapped package. “Give this to her when she wakes up?” Her mum takes it and gives me a small, sad smile.

 Then I look at Y/N one more time as her eyelids start to flutter. I want to stay. I want to stay in that doorway, and right by her side. Even if it’s always five feet away. Six feet, even.

XXVII | Y/N

✩‌

I feel something pricking at my arm.

My eyes fly open, my head spinning as my vision slowly comes back, bright lights overhead. But not the holiday lights, wrapping beautifully around the trees in the park. They’re the fluorescents of the hospital.

 Then faces block them.

Mum.

Dad.

I sit up, pushing out from under the blankets, and look over to see Doyoung. He’s standing next to the ER nurse, who is drawing blood from my arm. I try to push the nurse’s hands away, try to get up, but I’m too weak.

Hyuck.

Where is Hyuck?

“Y/N, calm down.” A voice says. Dr. Moon leans over me. “Your new lungs-” I rip the oxygen mask off, looking for him. Taeil tries to get it back over my face, but I turn away, squirming out of his reach.

“No, I don’t want them!” My dad wraps his arms around me, trying to get me to settle down.

“Y/N, calm down now.”

“Honey, please,” My mum says, grabbing my hand.

“Where is Haechan? Where is he?” I cry out, but I can’t see him anywhere. My eyes scan frantically, but my body gives up, falling weakly back onto the gurney. All I can see is his body slouched over mine, all of his air given to me.

“Y/N.” I hear a weak voice say. “I’m here.”

 Hyuck.

He’s alive.

 I turn my head toward the sound of the voice, my eyes finding his. We can’t be more than ten feet apart, but it feels farther than ever. I want to reach out, to touch him. To make sure he’s okay.

“Take the lungs.” He whispers, looking at me like I’m the only one here. No. I can’t. If I take the lungs, I will outlive him by close to a decade. If I take the lungs, he’ll be more of a danger to me than ever. They won’t let us in the same city, let alone room. And if I got B. cepacia after I got the healthy lungs all CFers want? It’d be wrong. It’d be devastating.

 “You’re taking the lungs, Y/N.” My mum says next to me, her hand tightening around my arm. I look at my dad, grabbing his hand desperately.

“Do you know how many things I am going to lose to CF? That I already have lost? The lungs won’t change that.” I cry. “I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting myself.” Everyone is quiet. “I don’t want to lose Haechan. I can’t” I say, meaning it. “I love him, Dad.” I look from my dad to my mum, and then to Doyoung and Taeil. Willing them to understand.

 “Take them. Please.” Haechan says, and he struggles to climb out from under an emergency blanket, the skin on his chest and stomach and abdomen a pale blue colour. His arms give way as Irene and a woman with his eyes push him back down.

“But if I do, it doesn’t change anything for us, Hyuck. It makes it worse.” I say, knowing that new lungs won’t rid me of cystic fibrosis.

“One step at a time.” He says, holding my gaze. “This is your chance. And that is what we both want. Don’t think about what you’ve lost. Think of how much you have to gain. Live, Y/N.” I can feel Yeji’s arms around me back at the pond, holding me close. I can hear her voice in my ear, saying the same words that Haechan is saying now.

 Live, Y/N.

 I take a deep breath and feel the familiar fight for air that I have every single day. When I was with Yeji, I said I wanted to live. I’ll have to worry about how after.

“Okay.” I say, nodding to Dr. Moon, and the decision is made.

 Relief fills Haechan’s eyes, and he stretches out, placing his hand on a medical cart sitting between our gurneys. I reach out, putting my hand on the other side. There’s stainless steel between us, but it doesn’t matter. His hand is still on the cart as I slowly start to roll away. To new lungs. To a new start. But away from him.

 I hear my parents’ footsteps behind me, and Doyoung’s, and Taeil’s, but I look back at Hyuck, one more time, his eyes meeting mine. And in that look, I see him when we met the first time in the hallway, running his fingers through his hair. I see him holding the other end of the pool cue while we walk through the hospital, telling me to stick around for the next year. I see him cut through the water in the pool, the light dancing off his eyes. I see him across the table from me at his party, laughing until tears stream down his face. I see the way he looked at me when he said that he loved me, only a few hours ago, on that icy pond. I see him wanting to kiss me. And now he smiles that lopsided smile from the day we first met, that familiar light filling his eyes, until he’s out of view. But I still hear his voice. I still hear Yeji’s voice.

XXVI | Donghyuck

✩‌

My throat is on fire. My lungs are done.

One more time. For Y/N.

 “Not… now. Come… on! Not now. Breathe!” I beg her, the cold pounding at my body as I hold her face in my hands, pushing all my air into her lungs.

 It hurts so bad; I can hardly stand it. My vision begins to fade, black swimming in from the edges, slowly overtaking everything until all I see is Y/N’s face surrounded by a sea of black. I have nothing left to give.

I have nothing left to- no.

 I straighten, desperately pulling in one more short breath, knowing deep in my chest that it is the last breath I will ever get.

XXV | Y/N

✩‌

I thrash, icy water all around me as I try to swim to the surface. My coat is so heavy, the water clings to it, dragging me farther and farther down into the deep. I frantically unzip it, starting to slide out of it when I see Junnie, floating away. My lungs burn as I gaze up at the light from the hole that I fell through, the thin cord from the oxygen concentrator a guide to the surface. But then I look over to Junnie.

 My body sinks deeper and deeper, the cold pushing the air out of my lungs, bubbles pouring out of me and up to the surface. I go for the plush, reaching desperately for him, my fingertips grazing his worn, patched skin. I cough, the last of my oxygen leaving my body, my head pounding, and the water fills my lungs. My vision blurs and darkens, the water changing in front of my eyes, slowly morphing into a black sky, tiny pinpoints of light appearing. Stars. The stars from Yeji’s drawing. They swim toward me, surrounding me, and circling all around me. I float among them, watching as they twinkle.

 Wait. This isn’t right. I blink, and I’m back in the water, strength filling my body as I pull with everything in me back to the top. A hand reaches out to me, my fingertips wrapping desperately around it as I’m heaved effortlessly out of the water. I lie there, gasping, and sit up, looking around. Where’s Haechan? Reaching up, I feel my hair. Dry. I touch my shirt, and then my trousers. Dry. I lay my palm flat on the ice, expecting to feel the cold. But… nothing. Something is wrong.

“I know you miss me, but this is taking it a little far.” A voice says from beside me. I look over, taking in the wavy hair, orbs identical to mine, the familiar smile.

 Yeji.

It’s Yeji.

 I don’t understand. I throw my arms around her, hugging her to make sure she’s real. She’s really there. She’s- wait. I pull back and look around me, at the frozen pond, at the stone footbridge.

“Yej. Am I… dead?” She shakes her head, squinting.

“Eh . . . not quite.” Not quite? I am so happy to see her, but the relief at her words overwhelms me. I don’t want to die yet. I want to actually live my life. We both hear a splash somewhere in the distance. I turn, looking for the source of the sound, but don’t see anything. What was that noise? I strain my ears and that’s when I hear it, like an echo, somewhere in the distance. His voice. It’s Haechan’s voice, ragged, coming between sharp, shallow breaths.

“Hold on, Y/N!” I look at Yeji, and I know she hears it too. We look down as my chest starts to slowly expand and fall, expand and fall, over and over and over again. Like I’m getting CPR.

“Not… now. Come… on! Not now. Breathe!” his voice yells, clearer now.

“What’s happening?” I ask her, watching as the view in front of me starts to slowly change. Donghyuck. His silhouette begins to form, close enough to touch. He’s leaning over a body.

 My body.

 I watch as he shivers, coughing, his body swaying as he starts to collapse. Every single breath is a struggle, and I watch as he gasps for air, trying desperately to fill his lungs. And every breath he gets, he gives to me.

“He’s breathing for you.” Yeji says as my chest expands again. With each breath he blows into my lungs, the view in front of me grows more and more vivid. I can see his face turning blue, every breath painful.

“Hyuck.” I whisper, watching as he struggles to push the air through my body.

“He really loves you, Little Star.” Yeji says, watching. As the scene sharpens, she fades. I turn to her, frantic, feeling again the loss that keeps me up at night. The unanswered question. Yeji smiles at me, shaking her head, already far ahead of me.

“It didn’t hurt. I wasn’t scared.” I take a deep breath, letting out a relieved sigh that I’ve been holding for more than a year now. My chest heaves suddenly, and I begin to cough, water pouring out of my mouth. I watch as my body, just a few feet away, does the exact same thing. Yeji smiles wider now. “I need you to live, okay? Live, Y/N. For me.” She starts to fade and I panic.

“No! Don’t go!” I say, grabbing on to her. She holds me tight, hugging me close to her, and I can smell the warm, flowery scent of her perfume. She whispers in my ear.

XXIV | Donghyuck

✩‌

“What’s your dream place to live?” I ask her as we walk slowly back around to the footbridge, her gloved hand resting inside of mine. We wipe away the fresh snow on the bridge’s railing and hop up, our legs swinging in time with one another.

“Malibu.” She says, setting the oxygen concentrator next to her as we look out at the pond. “Or Santa Barbara.” She would pick California. I give her a look.

“California? Really? Why not Colorado?”

“Hyuck!” She says, laughing. “Colorado? With our lungs?” I grin, shrugging as I picture the beautiful landscape of Colorado.

“What can I say? The mountains are beautiful!”

“Oh no.” She says, sighing loudly, her voice teasing. “I love the beach and you love the mountains. We’re doomed!” My phone chirps, and I reach into my pocket to see who it’s from. She grabs my hand, trying to stop me. I shrug.

“We should at least let them know we’re okay.”

“Some rebel you turned out to be.” She fires back at me, trying to snatch my phone from my hand. I laugh, freezing when I see my screen filled with texts from my mum. This late at night? I pull Y/N’s hand off to see every message is exactly the same.

LUNGS FOR Y/N. GET BACK NOW.

I swing my legs around, jumping up, excitement filling me from head to toe.

“Oh my god! Y/N, we have to go right now!” I grab her hand, trying to pull her off the railing. “Lungs- they have lungs for you!” She doesn’t budge. We need to get back ASAP. Why isn’t she moving? Doesn’t she understand? I watch her face as she stares off at the lights, completely unfazed by what I just said.

“I haven’t seen the lights yet.”

 What the fuck?

 “You knew?” I ask, shock hitting me like a bullet train. “What are we doing out here, Y/N? These lungs are your chance for a real life.”

“New lungs? Five years, Haechan. That’s the shelf life on them.” She snorts, glancing over at me. “What happens when those lungs start to fail? I’m right back to square one.” This is all my fault. The Y/N from two weeks ago would never be this stupid. But now, all thanks to me, she’s about to throw everything away.

“Five years is a lifetime to people like us, Y/N!” I shout back, trying to get her to see. “Before the B. cepacia, I would’ve killed for new lungs. Don’t be stupid.” I pull my phone out, starting to dial.

“I’m calling the hospital.”

“Hyuck, no!” She yells, moving to stop me.

 I watch in horror as her cannula tubing catches again on a gap in the stone footbridge, her head jerking back as she loses her balance. She tries to grab the slippery railing ledge, but her hand slides right off and she goes plummeting down. I try to grab hold of her, but she slams onto the ice, landing on her back, the concentrator landing with a plunk next to her.

“Y/N, shit! Are you okay?” I shout, about to launch myself over the side to her unmoving body. And then she starts laughing. She’s not hurt. Oh, thank God. She’s not hurt. I shake my head, relief filling my chest.

“That was some-” There’s a loud crack. I see her scramble, but there’s no time.

XXIII | Y/N

✩‌ 

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel sick. I grab on to Haechan’s hands as we slip across the surface of the ice, laughing as we struggle to keep our balance. I squeal as I lose mine, letting go of his arms so I don’t drag him down with me, and I fall hard on my butt.

“You good?” he asks, laughing harder. I nod happily. Better than good. I watch as he takes off at a run, whooping as he slides across the ice on his knees. Watching him makes the hurt from losing Jaemin less blinding, filling my heart up to the brim, even though it’s still in pieces. My phone rings in my pocket, and I ignore it like I have for most of the day, squinting into the distance at Haechan as he skitters across the pond. The phone finally stops, and I slowly stand, but then it starts chirping loudly, texts coming in one after the other. I pull out my phone, annoyed, looking down to see my screen filled with messages from my mum, from my dad, from Doyoung, from Irene. I expect to see more messages about Jaemin, but different words jump out at me.

LUNGS. THREE HOURS UNTIL THEY ARRIVE. WHERE ARE YOU???

Y/N. Please reply! LUNGS ARE ON THEIR WAY.

I freeze, the air sucking straight out of my current shitty lungs. I look across the pond at the man, watching as he spins slowly around and around and around. This is what I wanted. What Yeji wanted. New lungs. But I look across the pond at Hyuck again, the boy I love, who has B. cepacia and will never get the opportunity in front of me. I stare at my phone, my mind whirring. New lungs mean hospital and meds and recovery. It means therapy, and potential for infection, and enormous pain. But, most important, it means I’d be apart from Haechan now more than ever. Isolation, even, to keep the B. cepacia far away from me.

 I have to choose now.

New lungs?

Or Donghyuck?

  I look up at him and he smiles at me so wide that it’s not even a contest. I shut my phone off and launch myself across the ice, sliding and skidding my way over, before crashing at full force into him. He grabs on to me, barely managing to hold on and keep us from slamming into the ice. I don’t need new lungs to feel alive. I feel alive right now. My parents said they wanted me to be happy. I have to trust I know what that is. They’re going to lose me eventually, and I can’t control that. Haechan was right. Do I want to spend all my time left swimming upstream? I push off him and try to spin, throwing my arms out, my face turned toward the starry sky. Twirling around and around on the slick ice, I hear his voice.

“God, I love you.” The way he says it is so soft and real and the most wonderful thing. My arms drop and I stop spinning, turning to face him, my breathing coming in short gasps. He holds my gaze, and I feel the same pull I’ve always felt toward him, an undeniable gravity that dares me to close the gap between us. To step across every inch of the five feet. So this time, I do.

 I run to him, our bodies colliding, our feet giving way as we tumble to the ice, laughing as we land together. I pull his arms around me, resting my head on his chest as the snow falls around us, my heart beating so loud, I’m almost sure he can hear it. I look up at him as he leans in. Each magnetic breath he takes pulling me closer.

“You know I want to,” he whispers, and I can almost feel it. His lips meeting mine, cold from the snow and the ice, but absolute perfection. “But I can’t.” I look away and rest my head on his coat, watching the snow fall. Can’t. Can’t. I swallow the familiar feeling that pulls at my chest. He’s silent again, and I feel his lungs rising and falling underneath my head, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You scare me, Y/N.” I look up at him, frowning.

“What? Why?” He looks into my eyes, his voice serious.

“You make me want a life I can’t have.” I know exactly what he means. He shakes his head, his face sombre. “That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever felt.” I think back to when we met, then him teetering on the edge of the roof. He reaches out, his gloved hand gently touching my face, his brown eyes darker than usual, serious. “Except maybe this.”

 We’re silent, just looking at each other in the moonlight.

“This is disgustingly romantic.” he says, giving me a lopsided smile.

XXII | Donghyuck

✩‌

I sit in my chair, waiting for Doyoung to come to take me to isolation like I deserve. The morning has rolled into afternoon, afternoon into evening, evening into night, and I still haven’t heard anything from him, the threat he gave yesterday buried under what has come to pass. My eyes travel to the clock on my nightstand as another minute ticks by. Every change in the red numbers putting yesterday further in the past. Putting Jaemin in the past. Na Jaemin died on my birthday. I shake my head sadly, remembering his laughter at dinner. He was fine and then just like that… I kick myself, the shock and horror that filled Y/N’s face as she looked at me, the anger as she pushed me away, haunting me for the millionth time today. Why did I do that? What was I thinking? I wasn’t. That’s the problem. Y/N thought out all the rules and I couldn’t just follow them? What’s wrong with me? It’s only a matter of time before I do something really stupid. Something that gets us both killed.

I’m getting the fuck out of here.

I launch myself out of the chair, grabbing my big duffel from under my bed. I throw open the drawers and shove my clothes into it, clearing everything out as quickly as I can. Calling an Uber, I pack my art supplies and sketchbooks into my backpack, the pencils and the papers all shoved messily inside after the important stuff. I put the framed cartoon from my mum gently on top of the mound in my duffel bag, wrapping it carefully in a shirt, before zipping my bag closed and dropping a pin for the driver to meet me at the east entrance. I put on my coat and slip out of my room, booking it down the hall to the double doors and down the elevator to the east lobby. Pulling my beanie on, I shove open the door with my side, heading just inside the lobby doors to wait. Tapping my foot impatiently, I check the status of my car, squinting when I see movement on the other side of the doors. The glass fogs up and I watch as a hand reaches up to draw a heart. Y/N. I can see her now, in the darkness. We stare at each other, the glass of the door between us. She’s bundled up in a thick green jacket. A scarf is wrapped tightly around her neck, a pair of gloves on her small hands, her backpack slung over her shoulder. I reach up, pressing my palm to the glass, inside the heart that she drew. She bends her finger, telling me to come outside. My heart jumps. What is she doing? She has to come back inside; it’s freezing. I have to go get her.

I push carefully through the door, the cold air hitting me right in the face. Pulling my hat down lower over my ears, I walk over to her, my footsteps crunching noisily as I walk through the perfect blanket of white.

“Let’s go see the lights,” she says as I stop next to her, the invisible pool cue between us. She’s excited. Almost manic. I look in the direction of the holiday lights, knowing how far they are.

“Y/N, that’s gotta be two miles away. Come back inside-” She cuts me off.

“I’m going.” Her eyes meet mine, resolute, and full of something I’ve never seen there before, something wild. She’s going with or without me. “Come with me.” I’m all for being rebellious, but this seems like a death wish. Two kids with barely functioning lungs walking two miles one-way to go look at lights?

“Y/N. Now isn’t the time to be a rebel. Is this about Jaemin? This is about Jaemin, isn’t it?” She turns to face me.

“It’s about Jaemin. It’s about Yeji. It’s about you and me, Hyuck, and everything we’ll never get to do together.” I stay silent, watching her. Her words sound like they could come straight from my mouth, but when I hear them from her, they don’t sound the same. “If this is all we get, then let’s take it. I want to be fearless and free.” She says, giving me a look, daring me. “It’s just life, Hyuck. It’ll be over before we know it.”

  We walk down an empty sidewalk, the streetlights over our heads making the icy patches shine. I try to stay six feet away from her while we walk, our steps slow as we carefully try not to slip. I peer at the road in the distance and then back at Y/N.

“Let’s get an Uber, at least?” I think of the one that’s already on the way. She rolls her eyes.

“I want to walk and enjoy the night.” she says, leaning in and grabbing my hand in hers. I jerk back, but she holds on tight, her fingers lacing through mine. “Gloves! We’re good.”

“But we’re supposed to be six feet-” I start to say as she moves away from me, stretching our arms out but refusing to let go.

“Five feet.” She shoots back, determined. “I’m keeping that one.” I watch her for a moment, taking in the look on her face, and let all the fear and nervousness melt away. I’m finally outside a hospital. Going to actually see something instead of looking at it from a roof or a window. And Y/N is right next to me. Holding my hand. And even though I know it’s wrong, I can’t see how it possibly could be.

I cancel the Uber.

 We trudge on through the snow, the lights beckoning to us in the distance, the park border coming slowly closer and closer.

“I still want to see the Sistine Chapel.” She says while we walk, her footsteps assertive as she crunches through the snow.

“That’d be cool.” I say, shrugging. It’s not at the top of my list, but if she’s there, if Y/N’s there, I’d go too.

“Where do you want to go?” She asks me.

“Just about everywhere.” I say, thinking of all the places I’ve been but missed out on. “Brazil, Copenhagen, Fiji, France. I want to go on a worldwide trip where I just go to all the places I’ve been in a hospital at but never got to explore. Johnny said if I ever could do it, he’d go with me. She squeezes my hand, nodding, understanding, the snow clinging to our hands and our arms and our jackets. “Do you like warm weather or cold weather?” I ask her. She bites her lip, thinking.

“I like snow. But, aside from that, I think I prefer warm weather.” She looks over at me, curious. “You?”

“I like the cold. Not a huge fan of trudging through it, though.” I reply, fixing my beanie and smirking at her. I bend down, scooping up some snow and packing it together. “But I am a huge fan of snowballs.” She holds up her hands, shaking her head and giggling as she steps away from me.

“Lee Haechan. Do not.” Then she scoops up a snowball and with lightning-fast speed pins me right in the chest. I stare at her in shock, dramatically falling to my knees.

“I’ve been hit!” She tags me with another one in response, hitting me in the arm with a sniper-like aim. I chase after her, the two of us laughing and chucking snow in each other’s direction as we head toward the lights.

 Way too soon, we both begin gasping for breath. I grab her hand in truce as we huff and puff up a hill, turning around to look back at it all when we finally reach the top. Y/N exhales, fog swirling out of her mouth as we look back at the snow and the hospital, far behind us.

“Sure looks better behind us.” I give her a look, watching as the snow falls gently onto her hair and face.

“Was this on your to-do list? Break out with the handsome, charming Lee Donghyuck?” For once, the sound of my birth name upon my tongue does not sound nor feel so wrong. She laughs, the sound happy, real, despite everything.

“No. But my to-do list has changed.” She spreads her arms wide and falls back onto the hill, the snow giving way around her, puffing softly as she lands in it. I watch as she makes a snow angel, laughing as her arms and legs move back and forth, back and forth. No to-do list, no suffocating hospital, no obsessive regimen, no one else to worry about.

 She’s just Y/N.

 I spread my arms and fall down next to her, the snow moulding to my body as I land. I laugh, making a snow angel too, my whole body cold from the snow, but warm from the moment. We stop and look up at the sky. The stars seem an arm’s length away. Bright enough and close enough for us to just reach out and grab them. I look over at her, frowning when I notice a bulge in the front of her coat, on her chest. Not that I’ve been looking, but her boobs are nowhere near that big.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, poking at the lump. She unzips her coat to reveal a stuffed Moomin plush, lying limply against her chest. I smirk, looking up to meet her eyes. “I can’t wait to hear this one.” She pulls the patchy Moomintroll out of her jacket, holding it up.

“Yej gave this to me for my first hospital trip. I’ve had it with me every time since.” I can see her, young and small and scared, coming into Saint Evangeline’s for the first time, clutching that ratty plushie. I laugh, clearing my throat.

“Well, that’s good. ’Cause I didn’t want to have to tell you that a third boob’s a deal breaker.” She glares at me, but it gives way quickly. She tucks the plush back inside, sitting up to zip the coat back up. “Let’s go see your lights,” I say, standing. She tries to join me but jerks back to the ground. Kneeling, I see that the strap of her O2 concentrator is caught on a root. I reach out, taking the strap off it, and hold out my hand to help her stand back up. She takes it and I pull, her body swinging up, the motion moving her inches away from me. I look into her eyes, the air coming out of our mouths intermingling in the small space between us, doing what I know our bodies can’t. Behind her I see our snow angels, a perfect five feet apart. I let go, quickly stepping back before the dizzying urge to kiss her overwhelms me again.

 We keep walking, finally making it into the park and to the giant pond, the lights just a little bit farther. I watch as the moonlight glints off the frozen surface, dark and beautiful. Looking back, I see Y/N breathing heavily, struggling to catch her breath.

“You okay?” I ask, taking a step closer. She nods, looking past me and pointing.

“Let’s take a breather.” I glance behind me to see a stone footbridge, turning back to grin at Y/N’s pun. We walk slowly toward the small bridge, edging carefully along the shoreline of the pond. Y/N stops short, her foot reaching slowly out to touch the ice, and she gradually puts more and more weight on it, testing it out beneath her shoe.

“Y/N, don’t,” I say, picturing her going clean through it into the freezing water beneath.

“It’s frozen solid, Hyuck. C’mon!” She gives me a look. The same look I’ve seen all night tonight: brave, mischievous, daring. Reckless comes to mind too. But I push that aside.

 If this is all we get, then let’s take it.

XXI | Y/N

✩‌

I lean against the counter, smiling at Jaemin from six or so feet away as he pulls a freshly-baked cake from the oven, pulling out a cutting board, placing the cake atop of it and closing the oven door in one swift movement; entirely in his element. He glances up, feeling my presence looming to his side, a singular, perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in my direction. I look at him for a moment, just admiring him. I’d seen him ramble on about cooking before, but seeing him do it is different. He looks so at peace, so calm and collected despite the sheer amount of food he’s produced in the last few hours. I think about that first meeting, me clutching Junnie against my chest, him in that football jersey. I feel my heart swell, adoration for the boy flooding my chest as I part my lips to speak.

“I wanted to see the master at work. I feel like I’m in an episode of MasterChef. Now all we need is Gordon Ramsay stood at the side, calling me an idiot sandwich, or a fucking donkey or something.” I chirp, sending him a cheeky grin. He laughs, shooting a wink back at me before pulling his oven mitts off, throwing them to the side. I watch in awe as he assuredly twirls his chef’s knife, as though he’d been cooking for the last forty years, watching the blade deftly slice the small cake into seven neat, even pieces with a flourish. I let out a noise of surprise at the movement, leaning just a little bit closer to get a better view as he grabs a fresh strawberry from a punnet to his left and squints at it. He places it at the corner of the chopping board, leans over it and makes a few cuts here, a couple of snips there, in absolute, unbreakable concentration. He holds it up in his gloved hand after only a few seconds, his eyes crinkling as he grins widely. Though I can’t see the smile, with the face mask covering half of his face, I can tell he’s proud of it. I let my eyes flicker down to the thing sat between his fingers, and my jaw drops. The plain, old strawberry is completely transformed. Instead of a red bulb, an intricate and beautiful flower sits in his hand, the layers peeled back to reveal reds, whites and even shades of pink. “Jaemin! How the hell did you do that? That’s incredible! You should go to children’s birthday parties with that sorcery.” His cheeks flush pink, but he shrugs casually, placing the piece of fruit atop of a slice of the cake, perfectly placed and incredibly aesthetically appealing.

“As much as I hate strawberries, I’ve been practicing for next month when Jeno and I visit my mum. They both love the stupid things.” He says, face flushing an even deeper shade of pink, but sending me a look that screams: this is no big deal. I call bullshit. This is a big deal, the biggest fucking deal. I stare at him, mouth hung open and eyes wide. Him and Jeno are back together, and he’s taking him to see his family? Oh my God. He chuckles at my gormless state clearly amused with my inability to speak at this information. “Yeah.” He nods, grinning from ear to ear as he looks over at me, eyes sparkling. “I hate to admit it, but you were right, Y/N. He loves me. He really does. These past few weeks without him have been fucking torture. I love him. As scary as that is, I think I’m ready to face that fear.” His grin is unparalleled, happiness like I’ve never seen plastered across his face. He seems to bounce on his heels, practically buzzing with joy. “He’s coming for lunch tomorrow. He said he’s all up for testing out the hospital cuisine and acting out an episode of Kitchen Nightmares. We’re gonna give it a try.” I stare at him for a moment, my jaw still dropped as I process this information. He’s going for it. He’s giving himself a chance at love. I almost tackle him into a crushing hug, taking a step forward, but I catch myself before I can close the distance between us and actually do it. I look around, desperate to find something that- aha! I grab a kitchen mitt, pulling it on so that I can stretch out my arm, so that I can reach out and take his hand in mine, albeit with a little bit of a barrier. Tears well in my eyes as I sniff, trying to hold back the overwhelming emotions that threaten to spill over the surface. I shake my head, finally managing to open my mouth to speak, pure happiness making me feel like I’m floating five feet off of the ground.

“Jaemin. I’m so-” He swears under his breath and reaches over, ripping the kitchen mitt off my hand and smacking it over my head. I flinch, covering my face with my hands, a small yelp slipping past my lips.

“세상에! Don’t go all soppy on me, Y/N! You know that I can’t let a woman cry alone. Don’t take advantage of that!” I move out of my defensive position and look over at him, spotting his own watery eyes and giving him a grin.

“They’re happy tears, Jaem. I am so proud of you, and so fucking happy for you.” I manage, reaching up and wiping the tears that have spilled past my waterline. The both of us stand there, smiling at one another and sniffling as we try to reign in our emotions.

The sound of laughter comes from the other room, ending our moment, as well as breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. He clears his throat, wiping his eyes with his arm before clapping his hands together, turning back to the chopping board to slice up six more strawberries to place atop of the slices of cake.

“Come on, 큰아기. You’re missing out on the fun. I’ll be in there in a second.”

 After crafting a handful more strawberry flowers and placing them atop of the pre-cut slices, Jaemin carefully carries out his beautifully made cake with eighteen lit candles sitting on top of it and we all start to sing. I watch Hyuck smiling in the glow of the candlelight, looking more radiant than ever as he looks around the table at all of us, his sparkling eyes reflecting the flickering flames sat just before him.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Haechan. Happy birthday to you!” And many more. I mouth the words to him. I know that it’s a thing people say, a superstitious thing, but I really mean it. That phrase had never had more feeling behind it than it does right now. I stare at him, entranced in his beauty. In this light, with this smile, it’s impossible to calm my racing heart and stop the fluttering feeling that envelopes my stomach.

“Sorry if it’s a little underwhelming.” Jaemin says, giving him a sheepish smile in his direction. “I’m pretty good, but baking a full-blown birthday cake in an hour was a real stretch.” The boy opposite me waves this notion away almost immediately after the words come from the baker’s mouth, shaking his head.

“It’s perfect, Jaemin. I love it. Thank you so much.” He says, smiling at the boy, who flushes pink and gives an embarrassed, but proud grin. He leans forward slightly, closing his eyes and parting his lips, but then he pauses, eyeing the candles thoughtfully. “If I blow the candles out, then you guys can’t eat the cake.” He looks up from the flickering lights, his eyes moving between me and Jaemin. I make a noise of recognition, nodding alongside Jaemin. I totally hadn’t thought about that. It’s a good thing he remembered. After a moment of hesitation, Wendy leans over and blows out the candles in one large puff of air. She reaches over to the birthday boy and ruffles his hair, giving him a soft smile.

“I made a wish for you.” She speaks, her kind eyes crinkled with cheerfulness as she looks down at Haechan, who gives her a mischievous smirk and a wink. He spares a glance at me, the look in his eyes playful as he speaks.

“It better have involved Y/N popping out of a birthday cake in a bikini.” Everyone bursts out into laughter at his words, and I look over at him. He’s looking straight back at me, his deep brown eyes sparkling under the bright lights. I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the smile that pulls at the corner of my mouth. He gives me a boyish grin as Karina pulls out her phone, holding her arm out to take a group photo. We crowd together, the best we can while keeping me, Hyuck and Jaemin a safe distance from one another. We all grin up at the screen as the shutter sounds, our smiles captured in time. A photo that holds a thousand memories, a thousand sentimental feelings all bound into one image. I look over at Hyuck as Karina continues to press the shutter, the two of us sharing a soft smile. The people closest to us, those that we love, coming together like this to celebrate, despite all of the things that should separate us. Everything feels so perfect, so right, so-

 The frosted-glass door behind us slams open, creating a loud bang as the handle hits against the wall, everyone in the room jumping in shock at the sudden noise. Karina lowers the phone, and we spin around. All at once, we lay eyes on Doyoung. Oh shit. He stares at us, expressionless, and we stare back at him. Nobody dares to speak, stunned into silence from his sudden appearance. What could anybody possibly say to make whatever happens next any easier? He wasn’t supposed to be working now. He wasn’t on the rota. Eventually, Jaemin clears his throat, brave enough to cut through the silence that hangs over the room.

“Hi, Doyoung. We thought you were off tonight. Are you free? We can make you a plate. Y/N’s just about to start the entertainment.” His voice is more stable than I expected, almost humorously so. Nobody laughs, though. They don’t dare to. Not when his blank face twists, rage slowly seeping into his features as he stares at us, speechless. The respiratory therapist must have taken up a double shift today, and I’m sure it’s not an accident that he kept that on the low. He knows me, and he knows that it’s Haechan’s birthday. Fuck. He grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he lifts a shaking hand to point at the birthday boy, Jaemin and I. My heart races and I swallow harshly, trying to settle the disgusting nausea that seems to have settled in my stomach, threatening to rise up my throat. His lips move, his voice a complete juxtaposition to the anger that radiates from him.

“Up. Now.” His voice is quiet, too quiet. I’d rather he start screaming at us, scold us all and tell us how irresponsible we all are. The three of us stand slowly from the table, rising and walking slowly over to him, not daring to get within seven feet of one another. The nurse shakes his head, his jaw clenching and unclenching sporadically, looking around at us, words failing him. “Follow me.” With that, he starts walking out, swinging through the door and back across the cafeteria. We shoot small waves good-bye in our friends’ direction before following him out, only daring to do so because his back was turned. I stare at the nurse’s back as he walks ahead, trying to figure out how to fix this. I have to fix this. It’s bad. I’ve seen Doyoung mad or upset on plenty of occasions, but not like this. This is another kind of anger, the kind of anger that leaves you frozen in place, terrified for what comes next. As we trudge down the hallway, I shoot an anxious look over at Hyuck. Not wanting to speak and anger Doyoung any further, he mouths to me across the distance.

“It’ll be okay.” It’s meant to comfort me, and it almost works, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It looks forced, not the natural, boyish grin that I’ve become accustomed to. This smile doesn’t even convince him that things are going to be okay, but I appreciate his efforts nonetheless.

“You’re all confined to your rooms while we get respiratory cultures.” Doyoung says, spinning around to face us all, his eyes focused on Hyuck. “And you. You’ll be transferred in the morning.” No. No, he can’t. My lips move before I can process that I’m speaking, the words spilling from my lips instinctually.

“No. No, he won’t.” I say, and his eyes swing over to meet mine. “Doyoung, it wasn’t Haechan’s fault. I was the one who-” He holds up his hand, cutting my rushed speech off.

“You might be willing to gamble with your lives, but I’m not.” His words leave an air of finality, their weight looming over our heads. There’s a deafening silence, one that makes my ears ring, and then Jaemin laughs. A hearty, genuine laugh. We all look over at him, and he shakes his head, completely unfazed. As fearless as he was when he spoke to Doyoung in the cafeteria only minutes before, he chuckles as he meets my eyes, giving me an amused grin.

“It’s just like when we were kids-”

“You’re not kids anymore, Jaemin!” Doyoung shouts, cutting him off, his eyes hardened with rage. I look between the two of them, watching as Jaemin meets the elder’s eyes, holding his gaze.

“We were careful, Doyoung.” He says, shaking his head, a disbelieving smile still plastered across his lips. “We were safe. Just like you taught us to be.” He gestures to the distance we’re keeping from one another even now. The grin melts from his face as he coughs. A quick, short cough. His face becomes more serious now, the smile nowhere to be found, as he adds. “I’m sorry, but it was fun. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. I don’t regret it, not in the slightest. We know the facts. We know what risks we’re taking. As you so astutely pointed out, we aren’t kids anymore. You might not be willing to gamble our lives, but they aren’t your lives to gamble in the first place.” He looks away from the nurse, having nothing else to say to him. I stare at Jaemin, taken aback. We’ve had this conversation before, just the two of us, and he’s just summed up my views perfectly. I felt those words, knowing that he meant them from the deepest depths of his heart. He hadn’t agreed with me back then. What changed? Is it the fact that he has Jeno? Or is it that he’s going to see his mother? I give him a soft nod, letting him know that I agree with him, to which he gives me a soft smile. Doyoung opens his mouth to say something, looking between the two of us, but then he quickly closes it and spins on his heel to take us the rest of the way to the third floor.

Nobody says a single word for the rest of the journey to our ward, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the virtually empty hallways as we move. I look over at Hyuck, staring at his side profile as we walk. He swallows, his chest rising and falling in a deep sigh. I fight the urge to reach over and take his hand, to feel his skin on my own for the first time, to feel the comfort of his touch. I want to get closer, but that’s exactly what got us into this situation, isn’t it? Stepping through the double doors, we all make our way to our respective rooms, Jaemin winking at me and Haechan before ducking behind the door of 310. Hyuck gives me a sad smile, one that doesn’t make the skin around his eyes crinkle in joy, one that doesn’t pull his cheeks upwards, and I somehow manage to give one back as the door to 315 closes behind him. Doyoung stares at me, giving me a look of sheer and utter disappointment before I pull the door of 302 shut, leaning my forehead against the wood with a long sigh, finally letting the tears well in my eyes.

As the clock on the wall ticks closer and closer to midnight, I look back at Haechan, fast asleep on the other side of my laptop screen, his face pressed against his pillow, looking calm, peaceful. I rub my eyes, exhausted from the long day of planning for his party, the party itself, and getting caught by Doyoung, but I haven’t been able to fall asleep. For whatever reason, my body seems to be fighting even the idea of sleep with every ounce of energy, but it’s no annoyance. It means I can spend more time staring at the sleeping boy on the screen, propped up against the side of my bed. Before his slumber, we’d agreed that we wouldn’t hang up. We both know that, in the morning, he’ll be gone. Far away, in some other hospital and re-confined to isolation. Or maybe not, seeing as he’s now 18 and can make his own medical decisions. But either way, he won’t be here. They’ll stop him from coming back to Saint Evangeline’s. No more midnight walks. No more sitting by the pool. No more shared regimen. No more drawings. No more pool cue touches. No more notes under the doors. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I fight the unknown feeling that swarms my chest, blinking back tears and closing my eyes, willing this to be a dream, a nightmare. I lay in silence, listening to Hyuck’s breathing through the speakers of my laptop, my body finally beginning to succumb to the tiredness that plagues it. I feel my breathing even out, eyes no longer stinging with unshed tears, so I open them to spare one last lingering glance upon the boy on the other side of the screen. A small, sad smile pulls at my lips, my eyelids slowly shutting when an alarm blares over the speaker, jolting me from my sleepy stupor and forcing me to sit bolt upright.

“Code blue. All available personnel-”

I dive out of bed, dashing to the door and pressing my ear against it so that I can hear, and fully make out, the garbled, monotonous words of the announcement.

“Oh my god.” I whisper, the disgusting feeling in my chest enveloping my entire being. Code blue. Someone’s heart has stopped working. And there aren’t that many of us on this floor right now. I don’t hesitate, swinging open the door as the announcement is repeated again, fully audible now that the door is open and no longer providing a barrier to the sound.

“Code blue. All available personnel to room 310. Code blue.”

 Room 310.

 Jaemin.

 He must have not put the monitor on correctly again. He must have not taped it on. It must have come loose. Right? I clutch at the doorframe, my entire field of vision spinning violently and nauseatingly as a rapid response team pushes a cart past my room, dashing down the hall at top speed. I see Irene following them into Jaemin’s room, her shift not even started yet. I hear Doyoung’s voice call out, somewhere in the distance, sounding miles away.

“No pulse. He isn’t breathing! We have to move fast.” No. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I start to run, my feet slamming against the floor as I stumble to his room, my head fuzzy and feet tingling. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, my own steps sounding louder in my ears. I skid to a halt, frozen in the centre of the hallway, just outside of room 310. My vision is cloudy, blurred with delirium. Through the haze, I see his legs sprawled out on the floor, his stripy-sock clad feet falling awkwardly, almost facing two different directions. No. No, this isn’t real. I’m asleep. I’m having a nightmare. I’ll wake up in a few minutes, I know I will.  

 Doyoung is leaning over his upper body, covering it from my view, pushing air into the fragile boy’s lungs with a bag valve mask. It’s real. I’m not asleep. He isn’t breathing. Jaemin isn’t breathing.

“Come on, Jaem! Don’t do this to me!” He begs, squeezing the bag valve desperately as another voice yells out, barely audible through the ringing in my ears.

“Defibrillator pads!” A shape, too unclear to make out who as my eyes blur with tears, bends over him, cutting open his favourite South Korean national team football jersey, slapping two pads on his chest. His mum got him that shirt for his birthday. A new shirt that she’d saved up for, as he’d outgrown his last one. Doyoung moves away, no longer touching the boy as the volts run through the defibrillator pads. I watch his entire body twitch with the shock, and then I finally see his face. His eyes are rolled back. His skin is blue.

 My entire body goes numb. I stumble backwards in disbelief, falling against the wall as my chest tightens and a mind-splitting sob racks through my body.

“Jaemin!” My throat burns at the scream that erupts from my lips, wanting to get to him, wanting him to be okay, wanting to touch him, to hold him close, to be his best friend. Doyoung turns immediately, his eyes locking onto me, widening as he shouts out.

“No! Someone get her away from here.” No. I have to stay. I have to be with Jaemin. I have to. My head spins, eyes fixed on the still boy upon the floor, not daring to look away.

“Massive tension pneumothorax. His lung is collapsing. Get me an intubation tray!” A voice calls. I barely register the words, sounding as though they were coming from the depths of the ocean, distorted and drowned as I stare at his unmoving chest, using every iota of energy, of life, in my body to will it to lift.

 Breathe. He has to breathe.

 “Promise me, Y/N. Promise me that you’ll remember my face. Promise that you’ll remember me. So that if you… If you go to heaven today, you can recognise me when I get there too.” He whispers, lip trembling. I stare back at him, my own eyes becoming cloudy with tears as I clutched Junnie tightly.

“I’ll always remember you. Even if I go up there, even if I’m not down here anymore, then just know that I’ll wait for you. And… and when you get there, I’ll give you the biggest hug in the world.”

“A hug worth a lifetime of hugs.” Jaemin affirms, nodding his tiny head at me, a smile tugging at both of our lips.

 Bodies are all around me, trying to pull me backwards and away from view. I don’t dare to look away from him. I need to get to my best friend. I need to get to Jaemin. I fight, struggling against arms, hands and shoulders that attempt to restrain me, somehow finding the strength to push them away. I lunge forward, making it to the door of 310, clutching the doorframe tightly in order to stay on my feet.

“Don’t l-leave me, Jaem, p-please! I love you s-so much! Please, I don’t want you t-to go! You c-can’t!” I sob, praying to every God, begging every holy being, wishing upon every fucking star in the sky. He has to make it. He has to.

“Close that door!” Doyoung yells as hands finally manage to pull my weak form back out into the hallway. I hear his voice one more time, but this time he’s speaking to Jaemin, desperation pouring from his lips. “Fight, Jaem! Fight, goddammit!”

Through my tears, I see Irene, her eyes dark.

Then the door closes in my face.

 The hands leave my body as I stumble backwards, my legs wobbly and unstable. I turn, not sure what to do with myself. I see Haechan standing behind me, his face as colourless as Jaemin’s. He reaches out for me, wanting to comfort me when words can do no such thing, then closes his hands into fists, frustration overtaking his features. Nausea washes over me as the numbness begins to subside, utter and absolute pain overcoming my chest and making it impossible to breathe. I think I’m going to be sick. I press my back against the wall, sliding down onto the floor, my breathing coming in short gasps as my head spins and my stomach churns uncomfortably. Haechan sits down against the wall, five feet away. He doesn’t say a word, and I’m glad. No words, no pathetic stringing of words could make this any better. I wrap my shaking arms around my legs firmly, resting my head on my knees and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. In what should be the blackness of the backs of my eyelids, all I see is him. Jaemin. Lying there. Completely still.

Striped hospital socks.

Burgundy and dark blue soccer jersey.

  He’ll be okay. He has to be okay. He’ll sit up and make a joke about eating too much, or being so shocked by a Gordon Ramsay comeback, or swooning too hard over Kim Jongin. He’ll smile that dazzling grin, pearly whites glittering under the fluorescent lights, and he’ll ask if I want to go get a late-night milkshake with him. The same milkshakes we’ve been having together for ten years. The same milkshakes we need to have together for another decade.

 “Promise me, Y/N. Promise me that you’ll remember my face. Promise that you’ll remember me. So that if you… If you go to heaven today, you can recognise me when I get there too.”

“I’ll always remember you. Even if I go up there, even if I’m not down here anymore, then just know that I’ll wait for you. And… and when you get there, I’ll give you the biggest hug in the world.”

“A hug worth a lifetime of hugs.”

 I hear rushed footsteps, my head snapping up to see Dr. Moon hurrying down the hallway. I shoot up from the floor, hauling my shaky body to my feet to stand before him.

“Taeil-” I start, my voice breaking as I cry. He pushes past me.

“Not now, Y/N.” He says firmly, entering Jaemin’s room. I turn to face the door to 310. It swings wide and I see him. His face is turned toward me, his eyes slightly open, glazed over and locked onto the wall just beside my head. He isn’t moving. He still isn’t moving. Why isn’t he moving?

 But worse than that is Doyoung. The respiratory therapist sits to the side, legs sprawled in front of him, leaning forward with his head in his hands as his body shakes. He’s stopped trying. They’ve stopped trying. No. They’re taking everything off of him. The wires. The defibrillator pads. The intubation tube. They’ve given up. They’ve given up on him.

“No!” I hear myself scream, hands flying up to my head to grip at my hair, my entire body screeching alongside me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Doyoung mutters, his voice shaking, unable to look at me. I look from him to Irene, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she takes a step towards me.

“No. No.” I shake my head, taking a step back as my chest burns with pain, blinking profusely, tears spilling down my cheeks. “No!”

 He’s gone. Jaemin is gone.

  I stumble down the hallway, seeing his eyes the day we first met, seeing him smile at me from his bedroom door, seeing his hand resting in mine through the kitchen mitt only a few hours earlier.

“Promise that you’ll remember me.”

He wasn’t supposed to be the one who died. He wasn’t supposed to die before I did. Not with his lung function being so much better than mine. Not with all of the things he had to live for. My fingers blindly reach for the door, finding the handle to my door. I crash through, the door slamming loudly against the wall behind me, everything blurring as tears stream down my face.

 I spin around to see Haechan has followed me, and I take a step closer as sobs rack my body, making my rib cage ache and my chest tighten, as though a snake is wrapping itself around my torso, becoming impossible to breathe.

“He’s gone. Haechan, he’s gone! Jeno, his parents, oh my god.” I shake my head, clutching at my sides, nails digging into the skin hard, but I can’t feel it. “Hyuck! He was just about to... They’ll never see him again.” It’s only after saying those words out loud, after putting them into context, that the realisation slams into me, knocking all the air out of my lungs and rendering me unable to gasp out for breath. “I’ll never see him again.” I ball my hands into fists as I pace. “I never even hugged him. Never. Don’t touch! Don’t stand too close. Don’t, don’t, don’t!” I scream out, hysterical, coughing, dizzy. “He was my best friend and I never hugged him.” And I never will. The feeling is so horribly familiar; I can’t stand it. “This disease is a fucking prison!” I scream, fingers gripping chunks of my hair at the scalp as I cry. “I have to watch as my family and friends drown in themselves, drown in the expectance that I’m going to die, drown in their grief for Yeji, all while I’m dying, while I’m drowning in my own fucking lungs!” I gasp, tears blurring my vision as I blink at the teary-eyed boy before me. “I can’t even fucking touch you, Hyuck! I can’t get closer than six fucking feet. I can’t touch you like I couldn’t touch Jaemin, and now he’s... he’s... God!” I pace faster, feeling a few strands of hair rip from my scalp at the pressure as my grip tightens on them. “This- this distance... It’s fucking suffocating! We’re drowning in every aspect, Hyuck, can’t you see?” My throat aches at the heart-wrenching sobs that escape my cracked lips. “I’m losing everyone.” I manage, voice breaking with my cries. Yeji’s gone, and the most precious gift she ever gave me, my best friend, is gone too.

“You’re not losing me.” Haechan says, his voice soft but determined. He walks toward me, reaching out, his arms almost wrapping around me. In my desperation to feel something, anything, I almost let him, too.

“No!” I shove him away, placing both my hands on his chest, stumbling back, further and further, well past five, six, seven feet. I stare at him, eyes wide as I press my back against the far wall, now an entire room separating us. “What the fuck are you doing? Why did you do that?” I cry out, staring at him like he’s fucking crazy, which he is. He was close enough to touch me… I touched him. My god, I touched him. Realisation fills his eyes, and he backs away to the door, enlarging the distance between us, looking horrified. He stammers, absolutely speechless, lips moving and no words coming out for a few moments. A mix of emotions bubbles in the pit of my stomach as I stare at him, glancing down to my hands that had been placed upon his chest only moments before.

“Oh, f-fuck. Y/N. I- I wasn’t thinking. I j-just-”

“Get out.” I whisper, voice shaking, but he’s already in the hallway, already sprinting back to his room. As I cross the room, I picture his face once again, visualising the pure horror at his own actions. I slam my door, my head pounding with anger and with fear.

  I look around the room, head still fuzzy and eyes blurred with unshed tears, and all I see is loss. It’s everywhere. It clings to the walls, the floors, even my skin. My hands burn, as though the B. cepacia is seeping into my skin and eating away at the flesh. Nausea grips my stomach, churning it uncomfortably. The entire room spins and the walls close in on me, closer and closer until it’s all too much. This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a fucking prison. I cross the room, marching directly to the wall, my fingers curling around the edges of one of the many posters covering the clinical white. It gives way, tearing away from the hospital wall. I reach for more, ripping them down in their masses and leaving them in shreds upon the floor. I snatch the comforter from atop of my bed, throwing the pillows across the room, and then the bedspread too, leaving it bare. My fingers find Junnie, gripping him tightly for a moment before releasing him, flinging him at the door. I shove all the books and papers and to-do lists from my desk, everything clattering loudly to the ground. I gasp for air, feeling entirely unable to get a good breath, to have enough oxygen in my lungs to function properly. I’m fucking drowning. I’ve been drowning my entire life and yet, somehow, this moment feels the worst. My hands reach for the med cart, flinging item after item from the metal around the room in random directions, the bottles rattling as they crash into the floor, some popping open and spilling onto the linoleum, multi-coloured pills rolling in every direction. Nobody is ever going to see Na Jaemin again. Nobody is ever going to find out how much of an amazing cook he is. Nobody is ever going to see him at the X-Games or the next Summer Olympics for skateboarding. Nobody is ever going to see him sat in some famous restaurant, tasting and reviewing all of the food with his boyfriend, Jeno. Nobody is ever going to spot him at a Kim Jongin concert, sobbing in the stands with a lightstick in hand. Nobody is ever going to see him and his mother reunited after years apart. Nobody is ever going to see his wedding day. I’m never going to see any of those things. I’m never going to see him again. He’s dead. He’s gone. And he isn’t coming back. I stagger backwards, the weight of those words hitting me like a bullet train and rendering me unable to do anything other than gasp, wheezing for air. I blindly grab at my nightstand, first for stability, but then my fingers wrap around the first thing I can get my hands on, throwing it at the wall harshly.

The glass jar shatters against the wall, the shards jangling as they hit the floor, black truffles scattering across the linoleum. I freeze, hand still raised from where I had flung the jar, watching them roll in every direction. Jaemin’s truffles. Everything goes quiet except for the wheezing of my chest, heaving as I attempt to breathe, in and out, in and out. Then I see the post-it note, having fallen from the glass in my haste to throw it, landing directly at my feet. My eyes flicker over the words, over the poorly inked letters over Jaemin’s awful chicken scrawl.

‘You’re right. For once.’

I sink to my knees, sobs wracking my entire body as I pick up the small piece of paper with shaky hands, holding it up in front of my face, not daring to let my tears spill upon the sheet and smudge the ink. I cry for a few minutes, heart shattering in the chasm of my chest, not a single sound able to escape my chapped lips. I want to scream, to yell at the top of my lungs, but I can’t even do that. It’s when I look back up at the note that my eyes flicker over to the other side of the room, falling on the shattered glass. The truffles. I scramble to my feet, placing the note on the now empty desk and stumbling through the mess that now litters the floor. I crouch down, trying desperately to pick up the small, black truffles, one by one, collecting them in my hand. I lean to the side, my free hand wrapping around a still-standing, empty container on the bottom shelf of my med cart. I pop open the cap, tilting my hand so that the pile of truffles tumbles neatly into the newly-purposed pill bottle, then listening as the cap clicks shut. I sit back on my heels, gripping the bottle tightly, and look at Junnie, toppled over on his side, ragged and worn, surrounded by shards of glass and shredded posters, a lone truffle resting against his tattered, no longer white, leg. His blank eyes stare back at me, almost sad. I reach out, picking him up, and hug him to my chest, as tightly as I can. I think about Renjun, wishing I could see him. Though the last time I’d spoken to him was over ten years ago, he’d know exactly what to say. I know he would. He was always smart, with such a bright future. Until he didn’t have a future at all. My eyes travel over the mess covering the floor, over the torn band posters, over the scattered photos of my friends and I, to Yeji’s lung drawing, having survived the pull from the wall. The picture of the two of us didn’t have the same luck. The glass of the frame is cracked, as though splitting the two of us apart, right down the centre. I stay there for God knows how long, just staring at everything, clutching both Junnie and the truffles to my chest, a thousand memories behind each item, a thousand memories for each lost friend. Eventually, I stand up on shaky legs, managing to make my way across the room, where I collapse onto the bed, curling up into a tiny ball on the bare vinyl mattress, shutting my eyes tightly as tears continue to stream down my face as I lie there, alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my memories. Alone with my regrets.

 I lie awake, staring at the ceiling as the moonlight glares into my room, through the open curtains, everything giving way to numbness as evening drifts into early morning. My eyes flicker over to the clock before flickering back to the clinical white of the walls and ceiling. It’s only two-thirty. How is it only two-thirty? It hasn’t even been three hours since… God, it doesn’t feel real. I must have been the one to die, trapped in a never-ending nightmare that is a world without him. Without Jaemin.

‘I have to watch as my family and friends drown in themselves, drown in the expectance that I’m going to die, drown in their grief for Yeji, all while I’m dying, while I’m drowning in my own fucking lungs!’ I had yelled. ‘This- this distance... It’s fucking suffocating! We’re drowning in every aspect, Hyuck, can’t you see?’

It’s something that I’d never thought about before, and yet something which made perfect sense. If not the mucus that filled my lungs day-in-day-out, it would be the space between myself and the only other people on the planet who could possibly understand that did it; that drowned me. In my last gasping breath, what would I be thinking about? Those that I’d leave behind, or those that I’d finally be reunited with? Confined and cursed to a life of isolation, of cautiousness, of missing out; was that really life? I remember Haechan’s words to me, that day in the gym when he’d confronted me about Yej.

‘But, Y/N. That’s not living’

Maybe he was right.

  My phone vibrates noisily on the floor, incessant and irritating, but I ignore it. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not Haechan. Not my parents. Not Karina and Tzuyu. What’s the point? I’ll die or they will, and this cycle of people dying and people grieving will just continue. We’re all stranded in the ocean, and we’ll all drown eventually. That grief will pull us below the waves, whether it’s now or later, so why fight? If life has taught me anything, it’s that grief can destroy a person. It destroyed my parents. It will destroy Jaemin’s mother. Jeno. And me. My entire life, I’d been so okay with dying. I’ve always known it would happen. It’s been this inevitable thing that I’ve lived with forever, this awareness that I would die long before Yeji and my parents. And I’d accepted that. I was ready for it. I was never, ever ready to grieve myself. I was supposed to be the one to die long before everyone else, why would I be ready to grieve? I’d always thought it unfair. The pot luck that is life. They call it pot luck, but is it really luck when some die? When some go hungry and some live without a roof over their head? That’s not luck. And now, as I have for the last few hours, I can’t help but wonder what I would be thinking about in those last moments of life. If I had been damned by pot luck, condemned to a life of misfortune, would that last breath mean anything? I ask myself again; would I think about those that I’d leave behind, or those that I’d be reunited with?

 I can’t stare at this damn ceiling anymore. I push myself up, placing the truffles gently upon the empty bed beside Junnie, before wading through the wreckage that my room has become, stepping around pill bottles and pieces of glass, my striped hospital socks padding against the linoleum. I pick up my phone as I go, crouching down for it, feeling it vibrate in the palm of my hand. I slip on some shoes, over by the door, and drift out into the hallway, heading toward room 310. Jaemin’s room. I don’t know why. I walk slowly but surely, unable to stop my feet. I blink harshly, trying to shake the image of my best friend’s cold, still body laying upon the floor, his skin blue and eyes glazed over, unfocused. My chest tightens as I peer inside. Some part of me expects to see Jaemin sitting there, propped up against a mountain of pillows, looking up at me with a dazzling grin as I pass by, like this was all a sick, twisted nightmare. I hear him say my name, the playfully flirtatious drawl of his voice as he wiggles his eyebrows at me. If anybody else spoke to me like that, I’d probably run, but it was the way he said it, with that look of warmth in his shining eyes, that glittering smile reflecting the clinical white of the walls, giving them life. Instead, it’s an empty hospital room, the walls bare, a lone skateboard, decorated in an abundance of stickers, leaning against the bed. One of the few traces that Jaemin had left behind. And Jeno. He sits on the bed, his head in his hands, his dark hair a ruffled mess, a half-filled box sat next to him. He’s come to collect Jaemin’s belongings. The KAI poster. The South Korean national football team jersey. The plaid comforter. The spice rack. He sobs, his body shaking violently as he holds the comforter close to his chest, just like I had done with the truffles. I want to say something, to comfort him. But I don’t have the words.

My feet move before I can register what I’m doing. I step past the threshold of the door, for the first time in my life. They will have cleaned it top to bottom before letting Jeno in here, not that I really care about the risks anymore. We stuck to the rules, we took no risks, and yet Jaemin is dead. At the sound of footsteps, Jeno’s head shoots up. His eyes are swollen, red and bloodshot, filled to the brim with tears. Much like mine, I imagine. It had barely been a few hours and yet here he was, collecting Jaemin’s items as his only connection in the country other than me. I think about his mother, the sound of the screams she must have let out down the phone haunting me, as though I had really heard them. Jeno’s fingers grip the blanket tighter, his lip quivering slightly. His cheeks are blotchy, tears streaking down his skin. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he stands, placing the comforter gently into the box before taking a step towards me. No longer able to keep composure, he lets out a loud, heart-wrenching sob and collapses onto the floor, legs no longer able to keep him on his feet. I move forward and drop to my knees, pulling him into a tight embrace, gripping at his shoulders as he sobs into my shirt, my own eyes welling with tears. His hands pull at my shirt as he lets it all out, yells of utter heartache escaping his lips. I try to ignore the fact that I sit in the exact spot that Jaemin lay just a few hours before, just listening to Jeno weeping and allowing silent tears to slide down my own face.

We stay like that for what felt like hours but easily could have been a few seconds, Jeno’s sobs subsiding into pained hiccups, another layer of fresh tears drying upon my face. I rub his back, letting my hand slide up and down, the other hand in his hair, just holding him close. Holding him like I would have held Jaem.

“He loved you, Jen. He-” My gut twists at the past tense, but it doesn’t feel right to use the present either. I let out a long, drawn-out breath before continuing. “He really did.” If I use present tense, it means he’s still here. It means that it’s all a nightmare, and that he’s going to come around the corner on the skateboard beside us, crashing into the doorframe and bursting out laughing. Jeno nods against my chest, biting back further cries, but I feel new tears seeping through the material of my shirt. “Did he ever tell you about our promise?” I ask after a while, feeling as the boy shakes his head and humming in response. “When we were nine, I had a risky surgery and he cried for two days, refusing all his treatments until he saw me, a-alive and well. He hadn’t seen me before that surgery, and he was worried that he wouldn’t get to say goodbye.” I swallow, feeling the lump in my throat rise even further. I feel like I’m going to throw up, speaking about it like this, but I think Jeno needs to hear it. I think it’ll put his mind to, at least, a little bit of ease. I let my vision become blurred with tears, allowing my hands to tighten their grip on the boy in my arms. “He made me promise, the next time I had a surgery, that I would remember his face. That I would remember him. So that i-if I went to heaven that day, if I left him alone in the hospital, that I would r-recognise him when he got up there too.” Jeno sniffles, and my own chest shakes with a suppressed sob. “I t-told him that I’d always remember him. And that if I went u-up there, that I’d wait for him with open arms. That I’d give him the biggest hug in the w-world.” Jeno pulls away from my hold, removing my arms from him. He lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes sad. A terrible attempt at a smile crosses his lips and his voice is scratchy, deeper than usual.

“It’s okay. Let it out.” Though I want to hold back, to be strong and put up my usual front, the words are like a hairpin trigger. He pulls me into his arms, holding me the way I’d held him. The way that Jaemin would have held me.

A hug worth a lifetime of hugs.

I sob, ugly and body-wracking cries that echo around the chasm where my heart used to be.

“He m-made me promise e-every time after that. Every time o-one of us had a s-surgery, we p-promised that we’d r-remember each other l-like this. So w-we could meet again.” I manage in between sobs, needing to get the words out, needing to let him know. He stays silent, but I know he’s listening. “He’ll r-remember us, Jeno. He… He’ll remember you.” I feel Jeno’s chest shake as he cries. “And… And when we g-get up there, he’ll be w-waiting for us.” Tears stream down both of our faces as we sit upon the floor that Jaemin had walked upon only hours before, when we’d returned from the party. Jeno’s hand moves from my back and takes my own, squeezing my hand tightly in reconciliation. “He’ll tell us h-how we’ve taken forever, a-and how the food is s-so awful that he’s r-resorted to starvation as a principle, l-like Ghandi.” Jeno laughs, a genuine, yet still sad laugh. I let out a teary chuckle of my own, pulling away from the hug to look at him. A small, real smile sits upon his lips, mirroring my expression.

“He’ll complain a-about the lack of appreciation f-for-” He starts, but I cut in with a scoff.

“Kim Jongin.” We say together, before bursting out into laughter. His eyes curve upwards, disappearing with a smile of remembrance.

“He’ll t-tell us that the TV up there is awful, a-and how he’s had to rerun full e-episodes of Kitchen Nightmares in his head, j-just to get his daily f-fix of Gordon Ramsay.” I giggle through the continuous flow of tears, Jeno joining me with a shake of his head.

“Him and his Gordon Ramsay, huh?” I laugh, my lip quivering. Him and his Gordon Ramsay indeed. I lean forward once more, resting my head against Jeno’s chest. He places his chin atop of my head and we stay like that, in comfortable silence, for who knows how long. There’s an understanding between the two of us now. The understanding of loss, of pain, of grief. Jaemin would have liked to see us like this. Two of his favourite people, he’d say. We’re you’re only people, Jaem, I’d retort. He’d scowl but his lips would turn up into a grin as Jeno snickered. She’s got a point, Jeno would laugh. You’re supposed to be on my side! Besides, my mum says I’m her favourite boy, Jaem would sulk. You’re her only boy, I’d grin cheekily. He’d scoff, lips parted in feigned shock and hurt. I’m abused, he’d pout. I can hear his voice saying the words, I can see his pearly whites, I can smell his favourite cologne, I can taste the flaked truffles atop of eggs in the morning, I can feel my heart beating in my chest, beating for my best friend, beating for Jaemin. Jeno and I cry in each other’s embrace, holding each other the way we wished to have held Jaem. The way I never got to hold Jaem. The way Jeno will never get to hold him again.

After a while, Jeno politely asks to be left alone for a while, to which I happily oblige. I don’t know how much longer I could have stayed in that room, honestly. Though the atmosphere was slightly happier, the knowledge that I was on the floor where Jaem had lay, where he had died, made my skin crawl. I give him a parting smile, which he returns, before sitting back upon the bed and picking up the comforter, pulling it close to his chest. He’s no longer sobbing, a sad, tearful smile upon his lips as he takes in the scent of the blanket, of his boyfriend.

 I exit, continuing down the hallway, feeling my chest ache. It’s almost like the feeling when I can’t get any air in, but I have all of the air. I have all of the oxygen that Jaem couldn’t get, and yet I feel like I’m drowning. I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment, the wheeze of my chest louder than usual as I breathe in, then out. In, then out. As I pass, my fingertips drag along the door of 315, feeling the wood under their touch. The bedside lamp in Hyuck’s room is on, dim light visible through the gap between the base of the door and the linoleum of the floor, daring me to knock. Daring me to lift my hand once, twice, to let it fall upon the wood. Daring me to go to him. I ignore it, continuing down the hallway, feeling lightheaded and fuzzy, as though drifting rather than walking.

My feet take me up sets of stairs and down hallways and through doors and past blurred faces until I come to a sudden stop, no longer moving, no longer floating. I look up from the battered canvas of my shoes, eyes tracing over the clinical white until the sign for the children’s playroom comes into view. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the colourful letters, why did I come here? I allow my gaze to drift, in through the viewing window, scanning over painted animals, landscapes, clouds, rainbows, that litter the walls inside. This was where it had all started. Where I came on my first day at Saint Evangeline’s. Where I met Jisung and Chenle for the first time. Chenle is a CFer too. His lung function is pretty high considering his age, so he’s got a good shot at a lung transplant. Jisung, on the other hand, has chronic bronchitis, caused by an alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. The pair of them were equally as friendly and inviting back then as they are now, hilarious in their own ways, but all the funnier together. I remember, all of us so small and innocent, so unaware of the struggles that we’d have to face just to survive, just to stay alive. I stare at the mural covering the walls, imagining the four of us playing together: me, Jaemin, Jisung, Chenle and Yeji, the five of us having no idea that we had such little life ahead of us. And so much of that life was to be spent right here, inside this godforsaken hospital. I pull at the collar of my shirt uncomfortably, peeling the fabric away from my sweaty skin. For the first time in all my years at Saint Evangeline’s, staring at the playroom like this, I feel the urge to run, to run as far as I can and get as far away from this hospital as I can. I need to get out. I need air.

 Flying down the hallway, I head back into Building 1, slamming the elevator button until the steel doors slide open, and the elevator pulls me back down to my floor. Yanking open my door, I turn my head to look warily over at my obsessively organized med cart. All I’ve done for the longest time is take my meds and go through my stupid to-do lists, trying to stay alive for as long as possible. But why? I stopped living the day Yeji died. So what’s the point? Jaemin pushed everyone away so he wouldn’t hurt them, but it didn’t make a bit of difference. Jeno is still sitting on his bed, crushed, the weeks they could have had together spiralling through his head. Whether I die now or ten years from now, my parents will be crushed. And all I’ll have done is make myself miserable focusing on a few extra breaths.

 I slam open my closet door to grab my coat and scarf and gloves, wanting to get away from all of this. I throw my portable O2 concentrator into its satchel and head for the door. Peering into the hallway, I see the nurses’ station is empty. I clutch at the strap of the bag, pulling it further up on my shoulder, turning toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. Walking quickly, I push open the door before anyone can see me, coming face-to-face with the first set of stairs. I climb one by one, each step bringing me closer to freedom, each gasp for air a challenge to the universe. I run, the exhilaration pushing everything else from my mind. Soon the red exit door is in front of me. I pull out the folded bank note of Haechan’s, still in my coat pocket after all this time. Using it to hold the alarm button down, I pull open the door and use a brick leaning against the wall to keep it open. I step onto the roof and move to the edge to see the world below. I take a deep breath of the biting air and let out a long scream. I scream until my voice gives way to coughs. But it feels good. Looking down, my lungs heaving, I see Haechan in his room down below. He pulls a large duffel bag onto his shoulder, heading for the door.

 He’s leaving.

Lee Donghyuck is leaving.

 I look to the holiday lights in the distance, twinkling like stars, calling out to me.

XX | Donghyuck

✩‌

I blink, watching the short, brown-haired woman sleepily from the edge of my bed as she argues back and forth with Dr. Moon. As if screaming about it will somehow help change the words written across the paper, the intricate patterns making up the diagrams. If there was one thing about my mother, it was that she could never take this kind of news very well. Technical terms aside, there’s been no change. The Cevaflomalin hasn’t done what it was aiming to do, what the researchers and doctors were praising that it would do. I’d learnt not to get my hopes up, not after having so many meetings like this, but something is different about this time. And that something is her. She wasn’t in my life the last time I had news like this. The last time I had news like this, it didn’t keep me away from the one person in the world who I wanted to be close to. Happy birthday to me, I guess. I stare at the guitar case leaned against the wall behind her, eyes tracing over the messily littered band stickers and doodles covering it. My fingers tingle, itching to reach out, unzip the case and strum. I barely register the words that spew from her painted lips, no longer wanting to listen or be tuned in to the conversation.

“The researchers praised this drug to the high heavens, it should be working.” She paces back and forth, hand scratching at the back of her neck. She turns to face the doctor once again, pointing a finger at him as she speaks. “There must have been an adverse interaction, a fault, something keeping this drug from working as it should.” She fires, her eyes frantic and hair dishevelled as she stares at the man before her with desperation. She speaks as though she’s as versed in her medical knowledge as the doctor she’s addressing, and at this point, she may well be. Dr. Moon takes a deep breath, sighing softly and shaking his head. He looks back at her, imploring her to understand and to see reason in this.

“The B. cepacia bacterium in Haechan’s lungs have deeply colonized. Antibiotic penetration into lung tissue takes time for any drug, regardless of how well it’s been praised by its researchers.” He says firmly, nodding his head towards my daily IV of Cevaflomalin before continuing. “This drug is no different.” He stares at her, waiting for some kind of reaction. Even from being here a few weeks, it’s obvious to everyone in this godforsaken hospital what kind of person she is and, therefore, what kind of response she’ll have to bad news. My mum takes a deep breath, placing one hand on the side table and leaning against it, shaking her head.

“But if this drug isn’t effective-” No. No, absolutely not. I’m not leaving. She’s not pulling me out of another drug trial only to enrol me on another, another that’s halfway across the world. Not again. I stand from the bed, careful with the IV line connected to me, cutting her off.

“No. That’s enough. It’s over, Mum. I’m eighteen now, remember? I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not going to any more hospitals.” My voice comes out firmer than I’d been expecting, much stronger. Maybe it’s because I finally have a leg to stand on, being of legal age to make my own medical decisions, or maybe it’s because I feel more attached to this place than any other that I’ve ever been to. The shorter woman spins around to look at me, and I can tell she was entirely prepared for this moment, her familiar eyes hardened and blazing with anger.

“Oh, I am so sorry that I’m ruining your fun by trying to keep you alive, Donghyuck! So terribly sorry!” Her voice raises in pitch, clearly already livid with me. I scoff, spotting Dr. Moon slowly back toward the door in my peripheral. Smart man. This wouldn’t be pretty in any respect. My eyes remain on my mother as the door closes behind him and I glare at her, giving her the same hard look that she’d given me. Childish, maybe, but it’s impossible to win with her, so I have to get my own somehow.

“You know I’m a lost cause, don’t you? All of this-” I gesture around the room, one hand gripping the IV pole to my side. “- is pointless. You’re making it worse. Nothing you do, nothing doctors do, no treatment is going to rid my lungs of the B. cepacia. None of this is gonna save me. Nothing can.” I say, finally letting the words that I’ve been holding back for eight long months fall from my tongue. God, that felt good. I watch her carefully, staring as she removes her hand from the table, pursing her lips for a moment before parting them to speak.

“Fine!” She shoots back, throwing her hands up in fury, steam practically pouring from her ears. “Let’s stop all the treatments. Let’s stop spending money. Let’s stop trying. Then what, huh?” She stares at me, disbelief and exasperation seeping from every single pore on her face. “You lie down on the sands of some tropical and exotic country and just wait for the tide take you? You do something senseless and elegiac like that?” She puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head and letting out a breathy scoff. “I’m sorry, truly I am, but I don’t live in a state of make believe. I don’t live in a fairy tale or a movie. I live in the real world, Donghyuck, a world where people solve their…” Her voice trails off, face becoming emotionless as she realises what she was just about to say. And didn’t I know it. I take a step forward, ignoring the tug of the IV line pulling at my skin, raising my eyebrows, daring her to say it. Daring her to say the words that had been on the tip of her own tongue for months, years even.

“Problems. ‘A world where people solve their problems’. Go ahead, Mum. Say it.” I spit, voice coming out harsh. It’s the word that sums up what I’ve always been to her, ever since my first diagnosis, and even more so with the B. cepacia. I can feel the anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach, an anger that I haven’t felt before. All these years, I’d let her do what she wanted with my care. It wasn’t as though I really had a choice in it, anyway. But now… Now I do have a choice. Now I have my own say in my life. She lets out a slow sigh, staring at me for a moment before closing her eyes. She exhales again, eyes fluttering open, softening for the first time in what feels like, and may even be, years.

“You are not a problem. You’re my son.” Her voice is shakier than I’ve ever heard it before, an emotion that is eerily familiar but impossible to pinpoint. I shake my head at her, feeling that bubbling anger rise up from my stomach and pour from my lips, the room tinting red and ire blurring my vision.

“Then be my mother! Be my fucking mother! When was the last time you were that, huh?” I shout, no longer able to bite my tongue. How could she say that? When was the last time she saw me as her son? Certainly not within the last few years, at the least. Her voice is gentle as she moves, taking a step closer to me.

“I’m just trying to help you. I want the best for you. I’m trying to-” The best for me? Oh hell no.

“Do you know me at all? Have you ever tried to? Have you looked at a single one of my drawings? Have you ever listened to me play the guitar? Did you even know how much I like to sing? Did you know that there’s a girl in my life, a girl that I truly like? I’ll bet you didn’t. You don’t know any of these things. Not a single one.” I shake my head in exasperation, the rage of years of isolation pouring out of me, spilling directly onto her. “And how could you? How could you know anything? All you see of me is my fucking disease! First the CF, now the B. cepacia too!” I throw up a hand, pointing at all the sketchbooks and magazines and art stacked upon and littering my desk. “Who’s my favourite artist? Who’s my favourite musician? You have no idea, do you? I mean, fuck, you don’t even call me by a name I want to be called! You want a problem to fix, Mum? Fix how you look at me.” I finish, chest heaving with the exertion of the shouting. We stare at each other in near silence, the only sound being my loud and wheezing breaths. She looks at me with more softness than I’ve seen from her since I was a child, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she swallows, collecting herself and reaching over to take her purse from the side table, her voice less shaky but evidently emotive.

“I look at you just fine, Haechan.”

 She leaves, not sparing a glance back at me before closing the door quietly behind her. Of course she left. I sit down on my bed, frustrated, and look over to see two elaborately wrapped gifts, big red ribbons carefully tied around them. I almost throw them out, but instead I grab one, ready to see just what she could possibly think I’d want. I rip off the ribbon and the wrapping paper to reveal a frame. I can’t understand what I’m seeing. Not because I don’t recognize it. Because I do. It’s a political cartoon strip from the 1940s. An original of the photocopy I have hung up in my room. Signed and dated and everything. So rare, I didn’t even think any still existed. I scramble for the other, tearing the fabric of the ribbon and the shimmering paper straight from the object underneath them. A signed, framed CD, the word ‘DANGEROUS’ plastered across the disc underneath the thin layer of black marker. A Michael Jackson CD. Signed.

 I lie back on the uncomfortable bed, grabbing my pillow and shoving it over my face, letting out a loud groan, the frustration I was feeling toward her shifting, now aiming straight back at myself. I resented the way she was always looking at me, the way she didn’t know anything about me; so engrossed in my hatred for it that the realisation that I was doing the exact same thing never really hit. Well, until now. I let the cool pillow press against my skin, feeling a mixture of irritation and guilt bubbling in the pit of my stomach. Do I know anything about her? Do I know where she goes when she’s not in hospital with me? Do I know what she likes to do? No. No, I don’t. I don’t know a damn thing. All this time, I’ve been so focused on how I want to live my life that I’d entirely forgotten she has one of her own. I’ve never thought about it this way before, but the longer I lay there in silence, the more I understand. It’s me. It’s always been me. Without me, she’s entirely alone. All these years, especially these past eight months, I thought she only saw my disease. I thought she looked at me and saw the CF and the B. cepacia. A problem. Something that you can fix. But that’s not the case at all. Instead, she was looking right at me, observing me closely, trying to get me to fight against everything alongside her, and all I did in return was fight her. The only thing she wanted was for me to stay. To stay and fight. And what did I do? I counted down the days, getting ready to leave. I pull the pillow from my face and throw it to the end of the bed, hauling myself up. I run my fingers over the wooden frame for a moment before pulling down the photocopy and replacing it with the original political cartoon strip. I prop the other frame up, resting it carefully atop of my desk and adjusting until it sat straight. A loud sigh escapes my lips as I sit on the edge of the bed, eyes stinging with unshed tears. I get it now. She wants the same thing as Y/N. More time. She wants more time with me.

  I let my fingers drift over the strings of the decorated guitar, closing my eyes and basking in the sound. Despite it being over eight months since I’d last been able to play, my appendages seemed to have the movements committed to their muscles by memory. Every once in a while, I stop playing and reach for the pencil, thrown atop of the notebook which sits on the bed in front of me. It had been a long time since I’d written anything close to lyrics, but I have so many new experiences, so much on my mind. Or maybe, just one thing.

“If all the clouds become our enemies and the rain begins to fall… and the rain begins to fall, would you still be there standing next to me? With our backs against the wall. With our backs against the wall…” I picture her, standing against the wall opposite the door of 315, an adoring smile plastered across her lips as she blinks back at me. Will she stay, or will she leave? That’s the question, isn’t it? Hasn’t she already proved that she would, though? Ignoring Doyoung’s warnings, breaking the rules to be within the same room as me. I shrug it off, continuing.

“But darling, when the sky is dark, I still see it clearly. I see...” I see her, stood atop of the roof. Her eyes glitter under the reflection of the lights across town, the moon reflecting in her orbs as she stares at me, her hair framing her face perfectly. Her eyes flicker downwards, a small frown pulling at her lips as she grips the pool cue tighter, her gloved fingers clenching around the wood.

“Even when we're miles apart, I'll still hold you close. Whenever I walk too far, you'll still be my home.” Despite only being five feet, the distance between the two of us was so isolating, so suffocating, that it might as well be five miles. I picture her, in my arms. God, what I wouldn’t give for that. I’ve never felt more comfortable with anyone than I do with her. She makes me feel every emotion under the sun, makes me reach all the extremities, but she makes me a better person. I mean, hell, there’s no way I’d even be thinking about this spat with my mother if it weren’t for her influence. I certainly wouldn’t be feeling as good as I do, ‘cause I wouldn’t be doing any of the treatments. She’s a good influence on me, and she’s an influence that I don’t wanna lose.

“Honey, there's no easy part, no matter what you're told. But even when we're miles apart, I'll still hold you close.” No lie there. It isn’t easy, of course it’s not. Fighting every fibre of my body in order to not reach out and kiss her, that’s not easy. Having to stay five feet apart no matter what, that’s not easy. Knowing that I’ll never be able to love her the way a non-CFer could, that’s not easy. I stop abruptly at that. Placing the guitar gently back into the case before scribbling the words down onto an empty page in my sketchbook. It’s a shame, I think, that nobody is ever going to hear them. Maybe, in another life, I’d be a singer. Or maybe a dancer. Or maybe an artist. But not in this life. In this life, I’m resigned to being terminally ill. How depressing. I read over the words on the page after writing them. As genuine as the lyrics are, it’s a weak attempt to shake off the confrontation with my mum. I know that I should say something, anything. I know that I should reach out. Something as simple as a call or a text, but I can’t seem to suppress the feeling of anger that prickles under my skin at the thought. It’s entirely a two-way street, and she certainly hasn’t been doing a picture perfect job on her end either. Why shouldn’t she say something? Why shouldn’t she be the one to reach out. God, if she would have just shown me she was listening, even a little…

 I run my hand over my face and let out a loud sigh before grabbing a chocolate pudding cup and my afternoon pills from my med cart, dutifully taking them. I stare out of the window as I swallow down the mixture, watching the snowflakes trickle down from the sky and land atop of the already-formed blanket of white covering the city. I think about the snow in Austria, another hospital tour destination, and how pure it was. Y/N would like that kind of snow. God, if Johnny could hear me now. I’m as sappy for her as he is for Wendy at this point.

I pull out my phone, sitting down on the edge of my bed and begin to aimlessly scroll through my messages on Instagram. One after the other, birthday wishes from my old classmates and friends flood my screen. I smile softly. It’s nice to know that they haven’t forgotten me, despite the length of time since I’d seen most of them. I press the home button, glancing to the bottom of my home screen at the green iMessage app. No notifications. Nothing from Y/N. In fact, there’s been nothing from Y/N since last night, when I asked her about a second date. I smile at the thought. What would we do next? How much could there possibly be left to explore inside the walls of Saint Evangeline’s? I swipe across, clicking on the contacts app and scrolling down to her name. I press over the FaceTime button, a stupid smile plastered across my face as she picks up.

“I’m free!” I chirp, throwing my free arm up in the air behind me to display my happiness. I watch as her face twists into a look of confusion, lips forming an adorable pout.

“Wha-?” She starts, but then she cuts herself off, her eyes widening and expression almost comical. “Oh my God, yeah! Happy birthday! I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t-” She gushes, but I wave my hand, cutting her off. No big deal. Hell, if it wasn’t my 18th, I’d have probably forgotten it too.

“Are you free? We could take a walk! Doyoung isn’t around today.” I grin at her, wiggling my eyebrows. A small frown pulls at her lips as she pans the phone over, displaying what looked like an entire library stock of textbooks sat upon the bed in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I can’t right now. I’m studying.” Oh. My heart sinks, smile melting from my face into something much more forced. Studying? Really?

“Oh, yeah. Okay. That’s okay. I just thought that maybe…” I trail off, not sure what to say now. How does anyone respond to that? I look down at the textbooks, eyes scanning over the variety of subject materials with a barely suppressed sigh.

“How about later?” She asks, a sheepish smile on her face as she turns the phone camera around, the view panning back to her.

“My friends are visiting later.” I say, shrugging, trying to hide the disappointment that seeps under my skin. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out.” I take a sharp breath before continuing, my cheeks feeling slightly warm. “I was just, you know, missing you.” She smiles at me, her eyes warm, her face happy. Despite the disappointment, a floaty feeling overwhelms my chest as I look at her through the screen. “There’s what I wanted to see. That beautiful smile of yours.” She smiles bashfully, looking away from the camera, obviously flustered. I grin, staring at her cute face on my phone. I run my fingers through my hair with a small smirk. “All right, I’ll leave you to your books. Study hard!” With that, I press the red button and hang up, flopping back on my bed and throwing the phone onto my pillow. I know studying is important to her, but I just thought that she might be able to spare even a few minutes out of her day to see me, especially on my birthday. Barely a second later, the discarded phone starts to ring. I lurch forwards, sitting up and grabbing it, answering it without even looking at the screen to see who is calling, a cheesy grin pulling my cheeks upwards. “I knew you’d change your-”

“Hey, Haechan!” A voice on the other end of the line cuts me off. It’s Johnny.

“Johnny! Hey.” I say, trying not to sound disappointed that it isn’t Y/N. I’m still glad to hear from him, though. Of course it is. Everything with Y/N has been happening so fast, I haven’t really had a chance to get him all caught up. He’d lose his shit when he found out about the date. The pool. Even just the thought of it makes a shiver travel down my spine.

“Something came up.” He says hesitantly, but he sounds weird. What’s up with him? “I’m sorry, man. We can’t make it over there today.” Seriously? First Y/N, and now Johnny and Wendy? I don’t know if they’re aware, but birthdays are sort of in short supply for me. I suppress a sigh, nodding, disheartened. It’s probably something serious, Johnny wouldn’t cancel like this for no reason. I shake it off.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. I totally get it.” I manage, trying my best to sound positive. He starts apologizing, obviously seeing straight through me, but I cut him off. “Seriously, bro, it’s fine! I get it, it’s not a big deal.” After a few awkward goodbyes, I hang up, finally letting out the large sigh that I’ve been subduing since the start of the call. I haul myself upright, sitting against the headboard. My eyes trace over the frames now decorating my room, the political cartoon pinned next to the drawing of Y/N. I look away, not wanting to think about it right now. If I think about it, then it gets depressing. My gaze falls on my nebulizer, sat on my side table. I lean to the right, stretching out my arm and grabbing the albuterol. I shake my head slightly, mumbling a few words before putting the mouthpiece between my lips. “Happy birthday to me.”

 I jolt awake from my evening nap, rubbing my eyes as my phone chirps, vibrating loudly against the bed. I let out a groan and sit up, mouth stretching into a yawn as I force my eyes to focus on the screen, despite their drowsy state. I unlock it, swiping on the notification to see a text from Y/N.

Hide and seek. You’re it. x

I stare at the screen for a few moments, lips pulled down into a muddled frown. I roll out of bed and swing my legs over the edge, confused but curious as I slide my feet into my white Vans and make my way across the room, my phone clutched tightly in my hand. I throw the door open and a bright-yellow balloon almost hits me directly in the face, the string tied loosely to the exterior door handle. I grab it, pulling the string away from the doorknob and looking at it closely. There’s something sitting inside the balloon, something very small, sat right at the very bottom. A note? I look up and down the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, that there are no nurses or doctors around, before squatting down, placing the balloon on the floor. At the end of the hall, I spot a boy that Y/N had once greeted as ‘Jisung’, walking back to his room. She hadn’t specified whether he had CF or not, just that he was terminal, like us. He clutches an open bag of popcorn, having been to the vending machine, picking up a piece at a time and popping it into his mouth. I grimace slightly before stomping down on the balloon. Hard. The poor boy jumps about ten feet at the noise, hands waving around frantically as he seems to lose all of his bearings, the corn flying out of the packet and scattering across the entirety of the floor. I quickly snatch the rolled-up post-it note from inside of the latex, unfurling it to see a message, scrawled in Y/N’s neat writing.

Start where we first met.

The NICU. I rush down the hallway, where Jisung is knelt on the floor, resentfully picking up his popcorn as a boy points and laughs hysterically from his doorway. That’s Chenle, I assume. Jaemin had mentioned at some point that him and Jisung were best friends. The taller boy curses the other under his breath quietly, almost inaudibly. If I hadn’t passed him, I wouldn’t have heard the words that slipped from his lips.

“Just you wait, Zhong Chenle. I’ll get you back one day.” I dash past him, sending him a sheepish smile. He looks up, giving me the stink eye, before looking back down and continuing to grumble. I push through the double doors, pressing the elevator button a thousand times before it finally arrives and I step inside, riding up to the fifth floor. I sprint across the bridge into Building 2, dodging nurses and patients and doctors, and head through the doors into the east entrance of the NICU. It’s not like anybody is actually looking at me, they’re too caught up in their own business to do that, but I still try to avoid people as best I can. My head whips from side to side, searching for any sign that she was here. It has to be here, it’s the place that we officially met. I think back to that first encounter and a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. So much has changed since then. I’m a different person entirely, and I think that’s for the better. And there it is. Tied to an empty crib behind the glass is another bright-yellow balloon, swaying from side to side like a metronome, almost like a crib mobile. I tiptoe inside, shutting the door as quietly as possible, fumbling with the knot on the string to untie the balloon. Jesus. The last one was loosely wrapped around the door handle, but this one is tied like a sailor knot. I huff, digging my fingers into the string until, finally, it comes undone. I untangle it from the crib, holding it close to my body, and creep back out into the hallway. I look both ways, up and down the corridor, before shoving it underneath my hoodie, in an attempt to muffle the sound for the sleeping babies, and pressing down hard in an attempt to pop it. It bursts, still loud, but significantly quieter than the ear-splitting pop that had nearly given Jisung a heart attack. I pull the rubber out from under my hoodie and unfurl the note wrapped inside of it, reading over the next clue.

Roses are red. Or are they?

I frown, staring at the black ink. What does she mean, ‘or are they’? I stand still for a moment, eyes scanning over the words over and over again until it finally clicks, and I see her bashful smile, the way that the ribbon wrapped loosely around her locks, the way her gaze lingered on me, the way that her eyes twinkled under the fluorescent lights. I picture the white rose tucked carefully behind her ear. I spin on my heel, heading straight for the atrium, no doubt in my mind that this is the next destination. The way she’d looked at me that day… God, it took every ounce of energy inside my body to fight the urge to kiss her, to reach for her and hold her close, to feel her skin on mine. I sprint down the steps of the main lobby and towards the glass-enclosed room, ignoring the burning sensation that overwhelms my chest. Pushing open the double doors, I immediately spot the yellow balloon. Hovering in the centre of the room, its string is tied tightly to the vase on the table next to the ugly loveseats. I approach it, reaching up a hand to wipe at my sweaty face. I send a small, awkward smile to the security guard, who narrows his eyes at me suspiciously as I untie the balloon, struggling to catch my breath, my entire body screaming at me for doing all this running. I shrug at the man, sending him a sheepish grin before popping the balloon loudly.

“It’s my birthday today.” I say, not giving him a chance to respond, not even sparing a glance at him as I take the message from the inside, opening it up to read the words scrawled across the yellow post-it note.

If only I could hold my breath for this long…

My eyes barely finish scanning the paper before I turn around to face the tropical fish tank, the bright oranges and yellows of the aquatic creatures jumping out at me as my eyes scan furiously around the outside of the tank for a similar shade of yellow. No, she wouldn’t put two balloons in the same place. That’s too easy. I rack my brain, mentally flicking through every single encounter I’ve ever had with her until I realise where the next clue is. The pool.

 I dash out of the room, past the mumbling security guard, making my way to the gym in Building 1, the yellow post-it note clutched tightly in my hand as I cross the hospital. When did she do all this? Wasn’t she studying? Oh. Oh, she totally lied about studying. A stupid smile seems to take over my face, the giddiness of seeing her being stronger than the ache in my chest at all of the physical exertion. Eventually, I reach the gym, pushing open the doors to the gym with a loud creak. I swiftly move past all of the empty exercise equipment and see that the door to the pool, usually closed and locked with the code, is propped open with a chair. Well, that’s promising. Stepping inside, I let the humidity wash over me, managing a sigh of relief when I spot the yellow balloon floating above the water, a few feet from the edge. I step closer to it, realising that I can’t reach it without going into the pool. I look down, ready to take off my shoes and roll up my sweatpants to lean in, when something catches my eyes. It’s the pool cue. I shake my head, a chuckle slipping past my lips as I pick up the cue, stretching my arm out and hooking the end of the cue around the string of the balloon. I pull it towards me, noticing a tug at the end as something on the bottom of the pool weighs it down. When it’s close enough, I pull it up, not caring about the water splashing over my sleeves. Unable to hold back, I laugh, recognizing the bottle of Cal Stat from Y/N’s YouTube video. I use the thin end of the pool cue, jabbing it harshly to pop the balloon. The noise echoes around the room, remnants of the yellow balloon falling to the floor and settling atop of the excess water littering the poolside. I catch the note before it falls, unravelling it to read the message inside

Exactly forty-eight hours from when our first date began…

I flip the note over, a frown pulling at the corners of my mouth, but that’s it. I read it over again, muttering the words under my breath. I turn on the screen of my phone to check the time. Eight fifty-nine. One more minute until it’ll be exactly forty-eight hours from when our first date- My phone chirps loudly in my free hand. I almost drop the device in my rush to unlock it, managing to catch it and swipe on the notification. The iMessage app loads up, two messages from Y/N popping up onto my screen. A huge smile stretches my lips. God, she’s adorable. There’s a photo, Y/N looking beautiful as ever in a chef’s hat and holding a yellow balloon, a big smile on her face. There’s a text too, the message reading:

…our second date begins!

I stare down at the picture, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion, zooming in to see where she could possibly be. Not a clue. Those metal doors are just about everywhere in this hospital, making all the buildings and sections look identical to one another. I’m about to exit out of the photo, to text her, but then I see it out of the corner of my eye. I zoom again, sliding to the right edge of the picture to see a corner of the milkshake machine in the cafeteria. I dash out of the pool room, out of the gym, into the hallway towards the elevator, taking it up to the fifth floor. I walk as fast as I can down the hall and cross the bridge into Building 2, remembering Y/N and I’s conversation about the lights. I think about how lucky I am. How lucky I am to have met her, to have been born in the same time period, to have been in the same hospital at the exact same time as this incredible girl. Feeling exhilarated despite the breathlessness, I hop on one of the Building 2 lifts and step off at the third floor, where the cafeteria is, attempting to catch my breath and smooth out my unruly hair in the reflection of the metal lining the walls, pool cue still clutched tightly in one hand. I casually swing around the corner to see Y/N leaning against the wall, directly beside the double doors leading to the cafeteria, a look of pure joy filling her face when she sets her sights on me. I feel my heart leap out of my chest at the sight. I’d seen her smile plenty of times now, but when she looks like this, it’s impossible not to be taken aback. Her bright eyes sparkle like diamonds under the hospital bulbs, twinkling like her lights on the other side of town. She’s wearing a little bit of makeup, her own unruly locks pulled away from her face with a headband. She’s beautiful.

“I thought you’d never find me.” She teases, a playful lilt to her voice. Wordlessly, I hold out the pool cue, and she takes the other end, pushing open the door and leading me across the dark cafeteria. I stare at her as she moves, barely visible in the dim light, transfixed. She continues moving, past the main section of the canteen, into another area that I hadn’t bothered to explore. “I know it’s late, but we had to wait until the cafeteria closed and all the staff went home.” I frown at her words. I can’t help but wonder just how many rules she had broken since my arrival. Up until then, I’d assume it was very few. I didn’t want to encourage her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with, or make her feel like she owed me anything, but when she looks at me with those eyes and that adorable pout… God, what am I supposed to do? I open my mouth to make a joke and then I realise something else, turning my head to look from side to side, confusion painting my features.

“We?” I repeat, brows furrowed in her direction. She turns back to look at me as she comes stops in front of a pair of frosted-glass doors, light seeping through from the other side, her expression unreadable as she types a code into the keypad, just the way she had done in the gym. I stop too, five feet behind her, connected by the pool cue. With a click and a flash of green light, she swings the doors open, and a symphony of voices yell out, echoing around the empty expanse of the cafeteria.

“Surprise!”

  My jaw drops. Wendy and Johnny stand there, arms out and cheering, but there’s two more people beside them: Y/N’s friends. Tzuyu and Karina, fresh off the plane from Hawaii, stand beside a completely set table covered in a hospital sheet, white candles sitting on either end of it casting a warm glow on a large bowl in the centre of the table filled with freshly-cooked, steaming kimchi-jjigae, a large bowl of tteokbokki directly beside it, a plethora of types of kimbap lined up on platters on either side. I feel my mouth water at the sight, as well as the smell that floods the entire room. There are even tiny medicine cups with red-and-white Creon pills set in front of three seats at the table. I stare in disbelief, looking from the table to Y/N, mouth opening and closing, unable to articulate the utter joy that overwhelms me.

“Happy birthday, Hyuck!” She says, a wide, bright grin plastered across her face as she taps my side gently with the pool cue. I move slightly with the poke, but show no reaction, still in complete shock.

“He’s real!” One of the girls gushes. It could be either Karina or Tzuyu, I honestly can’t really tell them apart. This seems to pull me from my gormless state, a genuine laugh slipping between my lips, sending Y/N a teasing look before Wendy charges at me, engulfing me in a big hug.

“Oh my God, we felt so bad having to ditch you over the phone like that.” She exclaims, practically buzzing with excitement as she tightens her grip around me. I let out a playful groan of pain, but I’m unable to hold back a smile. As soon as Wendy lets go, Johnny wraps his stupidly long arms around me too, patting me on the back. He points over at Y/N with a fatherly grin, wiggling his eyebrows in a not-so-discreet way. I fight the urge to curl into myself and scream at the awkwardness of the action, managing to resist it. Johnny, being the sadist that he is, enjoys seeing people flustered and awkward.

“Your girlfriend over there tracked us down through your Instagram and convinced us to surprise you.” He teases. Tzuyu and Karina squeal and grip at each other’s arms at his word choice, making Y/N shoot them a calculated glare before allowing herself to glance over at me. I’m already looking right at her, how could I not? We share a look, our faces both becoming slightly warm. Girlfriend. That has an awfully nice ring to it.

“Well, you definitely surprised me.” I breathe a laugh, looking around at all of them, so full of appreciation. This might be the best birthday I’ve ever had. Never, in all my eighteen years, have I felt so grateful to have a group of people in my life. No matter how many birthdays that I begged to go to an authentic Korean barbecue place, my mother was always too busy. Too busy to take me, too busy to spend my birthday with me, despite my years on this earth being in such short supply. I open my mouth to speak again when Jaemin’s head pops out from the kitchen doors. He’s wearing a face mask, a scrub cap, an apron, and gloves, swinging a pair of tongs in the air as he calls out.

“Hey, you finally made it! You’re just in time, the food’s almost ready! Sit down, sit down! I’ll bring it out in a sec, dig in!” There’s more food? Oh hell yeah, this is definitely the best birthday of my life. The six of us sit down around the large table, spacing everyone out so that there’s a safe distance between all the CFers. Y/N at one end, me at the other, and a space for in the middle with Wendy and Johnny placed on either side of him. Karina and Tzuyu sit on the opposite side of the table, filling the distance between Y/N and me. The pristine tablecloth is lined with napkins and cutlery, a few sprinkles of rainbow confetti strewn out along the top. I smile, looking around the table at everyone as they begin to dig into the teokbokki, the kimchi-jjigae and the kimbap. I just look at them, their smiles, their sparkling eyes, hearing their vibrant laughter and excited chatter. My heart feels so full, so complete. It’s a feeling that I’ve never really had before, and as pleasant as it feels in some ways, it’s also absolutely disgusting. I’ve become such a sappy guy in such a short period of time, that it’s almost laughable. I look across the expanse of the table, across the distance, sending the girl on the other end a large, grateful smile, mouthing a “thank you.” She nods, giving me a bashful smile before looking down, obviously flustered. My grin becomes somehow wider. Girlfriend.

  Jaemin serves the most mouth-watering, perfectly-grilled selection of Korean meats that I’ve ever seen, platters with samgyeopsal, bulgogi, galbi and even dakgogi being carried out from the kitchen one by one. Once everything is put down, everyone stares at the fullness of the table in complete awe.

“Where did all this come from?” I ask him as my stomach grumbles noisily.

“Mostly right here!” Jaemin says, gesturing behind him to the kitchen. “Every hospital has a private kitchen where they keep all the quality stuff for the important people, no matter where you are in the world. This one’s no different.” He shrugs at my incredulous look, continuing to pile coriander high atop of his plate. I open my mouth to speak, but somebody else manages to get the words out before I do.

 “A certain someone may have also sent us on a run down to Korean food store on the other side of town to get a few things.” Tzuyu smirks, sipping her glass of water. She either doesn’t notice or pretends not to notice the glare that Y/N sends her, obviously upset about being exposed. If anything, it makes my heart swell even more in my chest, the adoration I feel for her increasing tenfold. She spent the time to figure out what my favourite foods were, and looked up recipes and everything so that she could send our friends out to get the ingredients. I stare at her, obviously giving her heart eyes from the way that Jaemin fakes a gag, muttering about couples before clearing his throat, grabbing a glass of water from the table, raising it into the air.

“Regardless of how it got here, tonight, birthday boy, it’s for you! 건배!” Everyone raises their glass in response, cheering out alongside him. I raise my glass too, sipping the water before a mischievous glint fills my eyes, Y/N sending me a questioning look across the table. I wink at her, a small smirk pulling at my lips at how flustered she seemed to get at the action. Well, now she’s the girlfriend, I’ve gotta ramp up the flirting. I pull all the emotion from my face, looking over at the boy down the table.

“It’s a shame that I’m allergic to pork, Jaem, I’d have loved to try the other meats.” Jaemin stops dead, chopsticks loaded with kimchi-jjigae and coriander hovering halfway into his mouth, and slowly looks over at me. I immediately burst out into laughter at the look on his face, unable to keep up the façade. Y/N laughs at the other end of the table, her contagious laughter filling the room as she stares at her best friend. The both of us splutter, watching as the boy scowls, finally letting the chopsticks drop the food into his mouth.

“I almost threw this entire table at you.” Jaemin says through his food, his voice muffled and emotionless, making it all the funnier. Y/N’s laugh becomes louder as she clutches her side, obviously having a stitch, being the breaking point of the tension in the room. Everyone laughs with us, partly because of the situation, but also partly because of the girl’s hilarious laughter. We all tuck in to the food, the room practically silent with appreciation at the taste. This is by far the best Korean food I have ever eaten, and I’ve eaten a hell of a lot of the stuff over the years.

“Jaemin, dude!” I say, holding up my chopsticks, which display a large strip of samgyeopsal, dipped in Korean soybean paste. “This is all so good.” I shove the food into my mouth, closing my eyes as the flavour melts onto my tongue. This is the kind of food I wished that my mother would take me out for when I was younger. This is other worldly.

“You’re going to be the best chef in the world one day, Jaem.” Y/N nods in agreement at my words, grinning as the blushing boy gives her a big smile, blowing a playful kiss in her direction. My lips can’t help but pull upward into their own little smile at their interaction; this is what I meant when I said that Y/N made everybody around her a better person, that she inspired and encouraged people. I think about what Jaemin said to me the first time we met, when he spoke about Y/N like that.

“I think you love her.”

“Oh, hell yeah, I do. I fucking adore her.” Jaemin had said, like it was a no-brainer, his face deadly serious. “Would lie down on hot coals for her. I’d give her my lungs if they were worth jack shit. I’d give her my last breath.”

Then, I couldn’t see past my own, narrow-minded, perspective of her. Then, I couldn’t imagine loving someone that much. But now… Now, I see her as she truly is. Now, I can picture myself doing those exact things. For her.

  The time passes so quickly as we continue to eat, swapping stories across the table and sharing all kinds of stuff. It feels comfortable. More so than you’d think, considering it’s my first time meeting Karina and Tzuyu, and it’s Y/N’s first time meeting Wendy and Johnny. It feels natural. Johnny seems to love this, having already shared five or six different tales, he tells a story about how we convinced virtually our entire school, apart from a small handful of rule-abiding, no-fun-having prefects, to come in wearing only their underwear on the last day of term before summer break. This would have been an impressive feat at any school, but it was especially impressive considering our school had a very strict uniform policy. You’d be stuck in detention for an untucked shirt, an inappropriately-sized tie, and the girls got held up for their skirts not being less than an inch above the knee. It wasn’t like the school administration could do anything, though, not when they couldn’t prove who started it. What would they do, expel the entire school? As much as I miss being in school, that’s the one thing I don’t miss in the slightest. The uniforms. Though, science class is a close second. I didn’t mind the strict teachers too much, pissing them off became even more fun, unpredictable almost. After another few stories from Johnny, Y/N starts talking about all the mischief that she and Jaemin have gotten up to within the walls of Saint Evangeline’s over the years. From trying to steal the milkshake machine in the cafeteria to holding wheelchair races in the children’s ward, it sounds like I’m not the only one that Doyoung’s come close to murdering in cold blood on more than one occasion. I’m shocked. Though she’d clearly shown some lenience for the rules through breaking them to spend time with me, I’d expected her to be a little less of a trouble maker in her earlier years. Especially after our first encounter, what with her being a female Doyoung Jr. I smile over at her, enjoying every second of her story. I missed out not knowing her until now, I know I have, but I like hearing all about it. It makes me feel like I know her a little better, though her YouTube channel gave me a pretty big insight.

“Oh! I can’t believe this wasn’t the first one we spoke about. I’ve got a good one.” Jaemin pipes up suddenly, eyes twinkling and teeth glinting as he grins, looking over at Y/N, who blinks at him in curiosity. “Halloween that one year?” Her face floods with recognition and she starts cracking up already, her eyes warm as she shakes her head at him, placing a hand over her mouth as she chuckles. “We must have been, what, Y/N? Nine? Ten?” The grinning girl nods, pulling her hand away from her mouth, managing to splutter out words through her laughter.

“Oh, God. It was Halloween, so we pulled hospital bed sheets over us to look like ghosts and…” She snorts as Jaemin starts making ghostly sounds, standing from his chair and holding out his arms, floating around the room. She places her hand over her face before continuing, immediately bursting into embarrassed laughter the second that the words spill from her lips. “We snuck into the dementia ward.” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s incredible. I choke on air, sending myself into a coughing because I’m laughing so hard. I slide my chair back from the table, waving my hand for them to continue while I catch my breath, holding onto my side as a stitch works its way through my body, unable to stop laughing.

“No!” Johnny gasps, slapping a hand over his mouth dramatically. He’s biting back a laugh, I can tell. “No, you didn’t.” Y/N groans, covering her face in shame, which tells everyone that they most certainly did.

“Oh, man.” Jaemin breathes out a long laugh, wiping his tearful eyes as he calms down slightly. “It was absolute pandemonium, but it was by far the best Halloween I’ve ever had. We got in so much trouble with Doyoung, I thought we were dead for sure.” He looks to Y/N, who nods in agreement, removing her face from her hands, sending him an exasperated look.

“He nearly beheaded us for that, and it wasn’t even our idea!” Y/N starts, a breathy chuckle drawing her words together. “Yeji…” She stops herself, voice trailing off. It was Yeji’s idea, is what she’s trying to say. I watch carefully as her mouth opens and closes for a moment, struggling to find the right words to articulate her thoughts, as I squeeze Cal Stat from the travel bottle onto my hands, rubbing it in all the way up my forearms, not taking my eyes off of her. She meets my gaze from across the table, and I see how hard it is for her. I see how little she’s actually been able to speak about Yeji in the past year, what with her parents being the way they were, and how much just the idea of speaking about her sister scares her. I want to reach out, to hold her hand and comfort her, or just to lay a hand on her shoulder, but I refrain. I have to.

“I miss her.” Tzuyu speaks up, Y/N giving her a half-hearted smile. Karina nods in agreement, her eyes teary. I guess Yeji was like her sister in many ways, with how she influenced people, how she inspired them. I look between the three friends, eyes all glistening, remembering.

“Yeji was wild. Free.” Jaemin speaks up, nodding at the girls, his own eyes welling with tears. He looks to his best friend, observing her closely before continuing. “She always said she was going to live wide open because Y/N wasn’t able to.” With this, Y/N seems to find her voice. It’s quiet, but it’s firm.

“And she did.” She nods. “Until it killed her.” The room goes completely quiet, out of both respect and remembrance. I watch as Y/N finally looks up, meeting Jaemin’s gaze, both of them sad but smiling as they share a moment, remembering her the way she lived. I’d never really thought about it before, not when Y/N was so uncomfortable with the topic of her sister, but it’s in this moment that I wish I could’ve met her. I wish that I could thank her for all that she’s done for Y/N, because I truly believe that without Yeji’s memory, Y/N wouldn’t have fought for so long. And if she hadn’t fought, then we’d have never met. She’d have never started that YouTube channel. She’d have never ticked off all of those things on that multi-coloured masterlist. Her talents would die alongside her, with no legacy, no record outside of her families’ and close friends’ memory that she ever existed. And that… That’s a tragic thought. That nobody would know Y/N L/N, and how incredible she was.

“But, man, did she live. A lot more than we have.” Jaemin says, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes, a smile still tugging at his lips. He looks around the room, taking in all of the decorations as though he hadn’t helped set it all up, as though he were seeing it for the first time. “She would’ve loved a clandestine party like this one.” He finishes, looking back to those that surround the table. There’s a long silence, a lull in the flow of conversation, but it’s comfortable. It’s necessary.

“Yeah.” Y/N says finally, breaking the quiet, breathing a long sigh. It’s a breath that I feel like she’s been holding on to since the day Yeji died, a breath that she’s been keeping inside for the sake of her parents, maybe even for herself, but she’s finally letting it go. Her shoulders fall with the exhale, built-up tension seeping from her skin as she nods gently. “She really would have.” There’s a short pause, but this time it feels too sad, too mournful for the memory of such an exuberant and lively person. I hold up my glass, lifting it into the air and speaking, soft but resolute.

“To Yeji.”

“To Yeji!” The table choruses, holding up their glasses, letting them remain there for a few moments before allowing themselves to drink.