It had been a little over three months since the day Kim Kibum’s life changed forever.

It was April 24th. The day had begun just like any other; he went to school, got in trouble, and skipped a class or two – everything he’d done just about every other day of his high school life. The phone rang not long after he arrived home from school and his mother answered it. Even from the living room, he could hear her speaking in hushed tones. She sounded concerned. A few minutes later, he heard the click of his mother hanging up the phone and then the scraping of a chair across tiles. He could almost feel his heart breaking as he heard his mother start sobbing quietly.

Curiosity and concern overtook him and Kibum peeled himself from the couch and went to the kitchen. He stood at the door for a few seconds, not knowing if he should knock or just walk straight in. He chose the latter option but said nothing, opting to just hug his sobbing mother until she calmed down.

‘Kibum…’ his mother said quietly once her sobs had subsided. ‘Oh, Kibum, I don’t know what to say.’ Kibum felt his stomach drop; suddenly it felt as though he were the one being comforted. ‘Kibum…’ she said again.

‘What is it, umma?’

His mother’s face fell and any composure she had managed to gain back was gone in an instant. ‘Kibum…’ she sobbed loudly and Kibum held her tighter. ‘Kibum, Jinki’s not… Jinki’s not well,’ she managed to say after another few minutes. It was clear that there was more to it – if he were simply unwell, she wouldn’t be crying hysterically like this.

Kibum tried to keep himself composed, though he now felt like crying too. Jinki was his best friend – they had known each other for years and were so close they were practically brothers. ‘What do you mean by “not well”?’

His mother sighed heavily. ‘He has cancer, sweetie. It’s terminal.’

Kibum couldn’t quite comprehend what had just been said. Without him even noticing, his hands slipped from around his mother’s shoulders. It was strange; he didn’t feel sad, he didn’t feel angry, he didn’t feel confused. In fact, he didn’t feel anything. It was as though his entire body had gone numb. His eyes remained fixated on one spot on the opposite side of the kitchen, but he wasn’t actually seeing anything.

‘Kibum…?’ the worried tone in his mother’s voice attracted his attention. His eyes drifted slowly to look at her, still not properly focusing. He was frightening her. ‘He still has a while. Eight months they said, honey.’ Kibum didn’t respond. His mind was still trying to process what had been said. Finally piecing things together, he came to a conclusion: his mother was lying. Jinki wasn’t going to die; he couldn’t die.

‘IT’S NOT TRUE!’ Kibum shouted suddenly, frightening his mother. ‘You’re a liar!’ Aside from his sudden burst of anger, his senses were still numb as he heel and stormed out of the room.

Always one to be stubborn, Kibum had refused to believe his mother until he arrived at the hospital the next day and visited his best friend in room 483. It took all the self-control Kibum had not to break down at the sight of his best friend sleeping in the hospital bed. He looked so peaceful and not at all like someone who knew they were going to die. He could only imagine how his friend had felt, being told he wasn’t even going to last another year.

The months following had been a blur for Kibum. Before and after school every day, he would visit Jinki at home or in the hospital – wherever he had happened to be that day. It didn’t matter if he were sleeping, Kibum would stay anyway. Soon, he was skipping school to visit his sick friend. His condition was deteriorating so rapidly that they had reduced the eight months to just four, which made Kibum angry. He didn’t know how they could possibly get it wrong by such a large margin.

It had come to the stage where Jinki could hardly recognise anyone and occasionally muttered things like “I want to die.” Kibum could hardly bear to watch his best friend in so much pain that he wished death upon himself and hoped it would all be over soon.

That day came much sooner than anyone had expected. Just seventy-four days after the initial phone call, Kibum was awoken by the buzzing of his cell phone around 3AM. It was a call from Jinki’s mother; Jinki had passed away.

Kibum spent the next few days helping with funeral plans, but when he wasn’t doing that, he was sitting on his bed staring at the wall. Up until the funeral, Kibum hadn’t cried, nor had he really shown any emotion. It seemed his body’s way of dealing with shock was to simply go numb and not process emotions. He delivered his speech at the funeral in a deadpanned tone with his face showing just as little emotion as his voice.

After the funeral, however, realisation hit him harder than a freight train. Jinki’s mother hadn’t wanted to cremate her son and had instead opted for burial. The coffin was beautiful; it was bright white with gold detailing and was adorned in hundreds of red roses. Jinki had always loved roses. Someone nudged Kibum’s side and handed him a shovel, indicating his turn to help bury his friend. As he lifted the shovel to tip it into the grave, his hands began to shake. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Kibum threw the shovel away from him as though it had burned him. It all suddenly seemed so real. Jinki was dead, he wasn’t coming back. If it weren’t for the many memories and the hollow, empty feeling in Kibum’s chest, it would almost seem as though he had never existed.

Kibum didn’t return to school for the rest of the term. There wasn’t long left, anyway. Kibum still hadn’t cried, but had resorted to a different form of emotional release – self-harm. What had started out as something to make him feel better soon became an addiction. Whether he was actually sad no longer mattered, he needed to cut himself, he needed to feel the sting of metal slicing through skin, he needed to feel the satisfaction as he watched the blood slowly leak from his wrists. His mother had noticed the scars, but he didn't care.

Of course, he didn’t do it with intent to kill himself. Although the thought of committing suicide constantly plagued his mind, he could never bring himself to do it. The day Kibum had first seen Jinki in the hospital, Jinki had said to him, “now, don’t you go hurting yourself. Someone needs to be around to look after my umma when I’m gone. It’d tear her apart if something happened to you too.” It was true. For Jinki’s mother, it would be as though she had lost another son, not just her son’s best friend.

Since the funeral, Kibum had spent most of his time at the local park sitting under a tree he and Jinki had claimed as their own when they were younger. People seldom approached him, but occasionally kids from his school would try and talk to him. He never responded and simply resorted to staring off in the opposite direction until they got the hint.

The days came and went relatively quickly, which was both a blessing and a curse for Kibum. The faster time went by, the easier it was to bear everything, but it also meant it was closer to the start of the new semester.

The night before he was due to go back to school Kibum lay awake anxiously for a few hours, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do at school without his best friend. Soon, his sleepiness overtook his anxiety and Kibum drifted off to sleep.

I'm sorry! Don't shoot me. >_<
I didn't mean to kill Dubu off before it started, honest!
I mean, I did, but I didn't. Key was meant to die, but then I realised he was the only one I could imagine self-harming, so things had to be changed.
Tbh, I'm not much of a fan of Key, so writing this seems strange to me. At least I can have fun torturing him throughout this fic. xD

Is this worth continuing? Comments are always loved. <3