Do you remember the day we first met? I do. 

It was a dark, gloomy day. Rain fell from the gray skies and umbrellas reached toward the heavens. Class had just ended, and I stood among the crowd of some noisy university students under the shade of the bus stop, though I was invisible to them, and you stood on the other side. I had glanced your way, just in time to see you accidentally get pushed into the rain. I had wanted to move, to pull you back in, but you had stepped back before I could even react. The student who bumped against you had apologized, and I watched with a chuckle upon my lips as you grumpily replied, "It's okay." 

The window seat was mine, and beside me you sat, and we spent the whole ride, shoulder to shoulder, watching the beads of rain slither against the glass of the window. It was weird when we stood at the same time, and hopped off the bus at the same stop. And it was even weirder when we walked the same direction, turned the same corners, and passed the same way. The whole time I stared at your back, keeping mind of where I was going, and just as the elevator that would send me up to my apartment came to sight, you had your heel to me, wearing an irritated, suspicious expression as you exclaimed, "Why are you following me?" 

I wanted to laugh, but the look you gave me was intimidating, and all I could let out was a pathetic, "What?" Maybe I should've seen it coming, that you were going to think that I was following you, but I hadn't. It was sort of amusing, how you misunderstood me. "I'm not following you."

You had given me a suspicious glare, and I shrugged. "But I really am not," I insisted, letting out a breathy chuckle. Your expression softened a little, and you were suddenly the cutest thing ever. It wasn't love at first sight, it was sort of love at... well, love after one bus ride from school. "I’m going up that elevator, where are you going?" I asked had asked you, and then with a smile, you had replied, "I'm just gonna walk a little longer, and take an elevator, too." Your words were sort of just a soft, sweet buzzing in my ears; I was too distracted by your smile. 

"Oh, alright," I had breathed out, realizing I had held my breath. We shared a smile, and then you watched me as I walked over to my elevator, pressing the button with the arrow pointing up. Turning back to you, I took a deep breath. "Goodbye then. I'm sorry if I scared you." You chuckled, shaking your head as you waved at me, walking toward the direction you were originally walking to. "It's okay." 

Do you remember the day we said, 'I love you'? I do. 

Every day, we shared a bus ride from school, and a walk home. Day by day we talked, and then we said our goodbyes by the elevator. The first time I had actually been to your place was about a month after we had met; I was surprised by your sudden invitation, but you had just nonchalantly stated that you were just bored and lonely, and it was a weekend anyway. So I went, and for some reason, your room had been exactly as I expected it to be: clean. We spent the night eating pizza and watching several movies, and I ended up crashing in your place. It was nice falling asleep there; your scent was everywhere. 

Two weeks later I found out you were actually on your third year on medicine. I was impressed, but then I should've seen it coming. It seemed to fit you so well to be a doctor, and thinking about it, I realized you had often pointed out things about the body, quizzical things that I never would have known. And you were good with the body, with the reasoning, and with the observing. It intimidated me a little, to be a friend of such a wise person. 

It was the day you graduated. We were back in your place, watching a movie after your friends had left. The place was a mess, obvious that a celebration had just ended, and neither of us was willing to get up and clean up. We both knew we were going to do it in the morning, and we both knew I was going to stay over the night again, just like many other nights before. 

"I'm a doctor! I'm a doctor!" you kept cheering, apparently drunk from the little wine you had drunk. It was then I found out you were weak against alcohol, and it amused me to no end. And there I just sat, observing you, listening to your little ramblings and enjoying every bit of it because you're usually so silent. You had babbled on and on about the human anatomy, about the brain and the heart mostly. And then you proceeded to tell me every event in your college life, every single one. Here and there came my occasional opinions and answers to your questions. 

"And and, remember when we met? We were walking and walking and walking and it just felt like you were following me, but you actually weren't!" There was a burst of laughter from you here. "You were so cute then, y'know? Your face kind of made my heart swell." Another laugh, but this time softer. "And do you know I got so happy when we met again, Chanyeol? Ahh, it's really nice talking to you." A pause here, a thoughtful pause. "I think I loved you more and more day by day, and now, ta-da! I love you so much!" 

There was silence then, and we both just stared at each other, dumbstruck. Suddenly, it was I who felt drunk and dizzy and hot, and it was you who was suddenly so sober. "I, um..." Your gaze flickered everywhere, and then landed back on me. "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." 

It was sudden, the kiss I gave you. But you were so irresistible then, with that innocent, bashful face, the red tint on your cheeks and the messed up hair. My body moved on its own, leaning toward you, a hand clamping onto the back of your neck to pull you toward me. Our lips touched, and then shyly began to move. The kiss was slow, careful, innocent, curious explorations. When we pulled apart, the world started to appear again, and your eyes bore into mine in a warm, affectionate, understanding gaze. That moment needed no words. 

Do you remember the day we almost fell apart? I do. 

Your career was getting better and better. I was just a painter, a simple artist, and I didn't gain half as much money as you did in a month. You, you were a doctor; you were and had everything you ever dreamed of. I respected you, admired you and I was so happy that you were mine, and mine only. You were able to buy the both of us a bigger home in no time, a better bed for all our nightly adventures. It made me miss embracing you on the couch, but it was okay, it was better. 

Your job had definitely made you wealthier, and I, I was just helping out, making at least a little extra money. And I was scared because you were so much more capable than me, and I seemed a little too dependent over you, and I was scared you'd get tired of me, but you didn't. And it was wonderful. Your job, though, began to take most of your time. I saw it coming, and I accepted it already, but I was still scared. 

Days became weeks and weeks became months, and countless nights I had to lie in bed, all alone and wishing you were there, missing your warmth. You would come home in the middle of the night, but sometimes, most of the time, I'd wake up and you're still not home. When you are, though, you're tired, and I was thankful for the occasional kisses, but sometimes they weren't enough. And by day, you would sleep, and I never woke you up. 

You came home one afternoon, tired as usual, and went straight into the bedroom after giving me a short, rather lifeless kiss. I followed you immediately, stunned by the picture of you sitting on the edge of the bed, head hung low and hands fidgeting with your shirt, and the colours of the sunset had given you a beautiful golden tint. A sort of heartbreaking picture, but beautiful nonetheless. 

"I think we should break up," you had told me, and your voice was soft, weak. Vaguely, I realized you were crying. And I just stood there, by the door, watching you, still more stunned than anything. When I failed to give you a reply, you had raised your head to look at me, asking, "Don't you?" 

Immediately, I had shaken my head, emotion dripping off my lips when I exclaimed, "Why would I?" You had laughed, dryly, and it had sounded unnatural, weird. “You told me you love me,” I had reminded you, weakly, and my voice was cracking in such a way that makes me cringe whenever I think back to that moment.

“That’s why I’m letting you go, Yeol,” you had said almost immediately, and then you looked at me, eyes bright with tears. “You can’t be happy with me, and I want you to be happy.”

“But I am happy!” I had screamed, though I was still frozen. “I am happy. So—so don’t you ever say that again, okay? We’re not gonna break up. I’m not going to leave you and you’re not going to leave me...” A pause from me here, a thoughtful pause, a fearful pause. “Unless,” I continued, slowly, carefully, “there is another reason you want to leave me...”

“No.” Your smile was beautiful, though you had tears on your face, your smile was genuine, relieved. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Do you remember the day I broke? I do.

I was scared, scared for myself, for my life, and I was scared to leave you. The pain was unbearable; burning, churning, swelling on my chest. The fear was endless, the predicted questions of the end as I fell to the ground, wheezing and coughing onto the floor. Your presence next to me had given me large amounts of comfort, but my vision had blurred, and I realized my tears had began to drip, adding to the puddle of blood on the floor.

If I was terrified, then what were you?

I wanted you beside me no matter what, always. I wanted your hand in mine, even though I wasn’t aware of it. I wanted to hear your voice, even though I couldn’t listen. I wanted to see your face, even though I couldn’t open my eyes. I wanted to have your touch, even though I couldn’t feel.

I never knew what had happened to me, never knew what caused the pain. I didn’t want to know, because I didn’t want to truly realize the possibilities of my death. And I didn’t need to know, because I knew, deep inside, that you could fix it, fix me.

—If I was terrified, then what were you?

Do you remember the day I kissed your lips again? I do.

It was the first time I had woken up in a long time. And you were beside me, like I had wished. I had said nothing, and neither had you. The moment needed no words, and I needed nothing but the kiss you had given me, the gentle touch of our lips, slow but needy, desperate. The little squeeze you gave my hand came out to be reassuring, but I had never felt so scared.

Do you remember walking alongside me? I do.

I was barely conscious, and I wanted to pull the mask off my face, I wanted to breathe normal air, I wanted to stay awake so I could watch you longer, but I was too weak.

The picture of you walking alongside me, holding my hand... I’m unsure if it is a memory, or a hallucination, or a memory sculpted by my emotions, by the little hope that still struggled to stay lit inside of me.

Somehow I had managed to stay awake until we reached what seemed to be our destination, and you were still there, next to me, living up to the silent, wordless promise you had made with me. The light above me was too bright, and I remember wincing when it was lit. I remember whimpering when your hand slipped from mine, but I had heard your reassuring whisper, “I’ll be back, don’t worry,” though your voice sounded pitiful.

And you did come back, and somehow I could see you, smiling next to me. My lips had tugged a smile of its own, but I remember feeling it seem painful on my face.

“Chanyeol,” you had whispered, softly, sweetly. A weak murmur from me. “You’ll be alright. Everything’s going to be okay. You just relax, okay? Be strong for me. I’ll fix you, I promise.” I knew it. I knew you were going to fix me, I knew everything was going to be alright, and if I could, I would’ve smiled and nodded.

The light above me became blindingly bright, almost burning me. The last thing I had felt was the press of your lips against my forehead. “I love you. Baekhyun loves Chanyeol.”

Before I closed my eyes—

If I was terrified, then what were you?

—only to never open them again.

"I'm so sorry, Chanyeol! Forgive me, please!" A scream from you, a cry, a plea, desperate and broken, dying. 

"I forgive you... It's okay." An unheard whisper, a silent cry, a breath, empty and dull, gone.  

I thought my Baekhyun was better, wiser than to pull the trigger of the gun he had pointed against his head.