“I once spoke to someone who had survived the genocide in Rwanda, and she told to me that there was now nobody left on the face of the planet, either friend or relative, who knew who she was. No one. Nobody who remembered her childhood, interests and family lore; no siblings nor classmates who could relieve and about her first romance and heartache and embarrassingly first kiss; no companion or beau to muse over. All her birthdays, exam grades, attachments, bonds – gone. Although, she went on living, but with tabula rasa as her life. I remember her every time I hear of the callow ambition ‘to make a new start’ or to be ‘born again’: Do those who talk this way truly wish for their slate to be wiped?” The tall and balding doctor related as Donghwa ended his long speech about Donghae’s behavior.

Donghwa could only sigh in response at the remark. No, Donghae didn’t like a new start, he wanted it all to end…and I’ll give him just that.

Hyung knew that the fateful day would come. His younger brother was fragile but was never weak – he was so strong that he could choose the way of painful farewell than a life of grief. It was never cowardice – it was a strength of different kind.

All of us, Donghwa supposed, like to believe that in a moral emergency we will behave like the heroes of our youth, bravely and forthrightly, without thought of personal loss or discredit. If the stakes ever became high enough—if the evil were evil enough, if the good were good enough—People would simply tap a secret reservoir of courage that had been accumulating inside ourselves over the years. Courage, he seemed to think, comes to us in finite quantities, like an inheritance, and by being frugal and stashing it away and letting it earn interest, we steadily increase our moral capital in preparation for that day when the account must be drawn down. It was a comforting theory. It dispensed with all those bothersome little acts of daily courage; it offered hope and grace to the repetitive coward; it justified the past while amortizing the future.

Needless to say, Donghwa gambled, with more chances on losing everything.

It had to be an ostentatious plan, one that is filled with meticulous care because a single mistake could end up gravely. The consequences are inescapable and fatal.

As a typical caring and doting hyung, Donghwa had no other choice but to help the younger. After all, it was always how they are, “What out for Fishy…” his appa would always say. So he would do just that, in any way he could.

Unfortunately for both of them, death was the only option.

“…this could end up badly.” The physician continued, disrupting Donghwa out of his trance.

“I know.”

“We could still turn back.” the old doctor tried to reason, to shed some sense to the young man.

Donghwa closed his eyes as if the pain of thinking too much was blinding him. “Just do it. I’ll take the blame.” He finally resigned.

There was always a gap between intention and action, and Donghwa knew that if he back off now, he wouldn’t have the heart in the future to do it.

So he signed the papers that sealed Donghae’s fate.

--

Installing a keylogger software to Donghae’s phone was the easiest part of the plan. Donghwa also considered connecting a firmware-based keystroke log to the dormitory for good measure, but decided against it in the end since he doesn’t want to invade the other boys’ privacy.

If anything, the ‘waiting’ part was the hardest. Donghwa couldn’t count the loads of false alarms, messages and phone conversations he pried to. So when the real thing arrived, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He tried to be strong, yes, but when the overwhelming realization of Donghae’s decision unfolded, it took a good few hours for him to steady himself. A part of him still believe that his brother would not succumb to his state.

Donghae even tried to be discreet when he searched for prescription-based oxycodone in purlieu of Seoul. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Donghwa could have laughed out loud in the absurdity of Donghae’s researching techniques. He was still a child, he still has a lot to learn.

Using a proxy IP address and a hoax e-mail from a well-known pharmaceutical company, he contacted Donghae two days later with an offer – four legit packages of high-dosed OxyContin in exchange of a sizable amount. He also blabbed about benzodiazepines and methaqualone as well as NyQuil to appear as real as possible. He told Fishy that he used a web crawler to hunt for IP addresses that were looking for similar and/or related searches within the area of Seoul, since this kind of business is not exactly you could print on newspapers or advertise on TV. Although a bit skeptic at first, Donghae ate up the whole story.

They made the exchanged through a backdoor delivery and wired the payment in an offshore bank account. If anyone would try to dig up the cash trail, they would be knee-deep first in paperworks and by the time, Donghwa would have easily transferred the account somewhere else.

Hyung took all the necessary measures in case SM Entertainment decided to make an extensive manhunt or follow the papertrail as to Donghae’s drug source. After all, Donghae is a valuable asset of SM, and any bad media that will be associated with Hae could also potentially drag down the company.

After that, everything else rested on Donghae’s part.

--

Donghwa was glad that he was able to take actions immediately, because he knew perfectly well that Hae is impatient. If his online searches of prescription-based drugs turned futile, he would resort to more drastic yet easy methods, and for that, Donghwa was afraid that he couldn’t intervene.

Donghae must not merely cling to life, for then he will be a coward, and will not escape. He must not merely wait for death, for then he will be a suicide, and will not escape. He must seek his life in a spirit of furious indifference to it.

Hyung wanted Donghae to experience death -- to have his life slip between his fingers, to have darkness engulf his senses like flames. Because, he believed, only through that will Donghae be able to understand that his life is precious and his existence matters to everyone around him.

Donghwa have to admit that the plan was reckless, impulsive and downright dangerous. After Donghae took the pills (which are not really Oxycontin, but a high-dosed muscle relaxant drug) he has to arrange for the hospital and pre-determined hospital staffs so there won't be any problem. He also went back in forth whether he would would inform the older SuJu members but in the end he decided against it -- if worst comes to worst, he doesn't want to share the blame to anyone else. After all, the idea was all his. If something goes wrong, nobody shall be blame except him.

Hae was continuously given small doses of muscle-relaxant drug that will induce an effect comparable to heart attack if it reaches a certain dosage. This will ensure that Donghae (and the others) will believe that he is in the verge of dying. The method was heartless, yes, but Donghwa couldn't think of any other way.

The last medicine-induced heart attack happened at half-past four in the hospital garden. It wasn't near fatal but the pain of death was almost tangible. Not to mention the fact that the group's maknae witnessed the whole thing. 

Donghae was given medicine to recuperate and to expell the drugs that were previously given to him. After that, he stayed asleep in the ICU for more than a week.

When Donghae woke up, he was a changed-man. Like he was born for the second time.

Second chances.

--

[Some months later]

There are some moments in every life they haven't invented the right words for.

It was one of those hectic mornings and the group was losing their minds how to fill all the schedules they have to be in a few given hours. But none of them was complaining, because really, despite all the sleepless nights and tiring days, they are all alive and enjoying the things they all love.

 Donghae glanced  at the mirror for like 6th time in a row and the only thing that changed since his last look were the evident crease in his necktie and thick eyebrows.

"That is not how you do it, you know.." a voice piped-up from behind. Fishy doesn't need to turn around to see that it was Yesung-hyung. "Give me that wrinkly cloth in your neck."

"It's called a necktie, hyung." Donghae retorted, feighing an annoyed tone.

"Really? I didn't notice." Yesung answered, with all his poker-faced might. "It looked to me that you're trying to strangle yourself. For future reference though, i think your last method was still effective. The pills, I mean."

Yesung is the only one who could joke around that topic without finding feeling weird about it. And after all that Donghae learned from him, he couldn't find it in his heart to be mad at him.

"That's funny hyung..." Donghae could only roll his eyes while Yesung was doing his magic with the necktie.

"There. All set." Yesung gave the cloth one final tap and he spin Donghae so he would face the mirror once again. "You like what you see, huh?" 

No. Donghae loved what he sees. He's alive, he's happy, he is loved. It took all his might to stop the tears that were b in his eyes.

"C'mon. I don't want Leeteuk-hyung to skin us alive just because you got all teary-eyed." The older tugged Donghae away from the mirror before he could even find his voice to retort.

The prior months were long and somewhat tedious but that was how Donghae learned that he was well. The only way out when you reached rock-bottom is upward. One morning Donghae begun to feel his sorrow easing, like something jagged that had cut into him so long it had finally dulled its edges, worn itself down. The following months, Donghae couldn't remember which side his father had parted his hair on, and he'd realized again what Donghwa told him the first week of their mourning -- that what made losing someone you loved bearable was not remembering but forgetting. Forgetting the small things first, the smell of the soap his father bathed with, the color of the hat he's usually worn when fishing, then after a while the sound of his father's voice, the color of his hair. It amazed Donghae how much he could forget, and everything he forgot made that person less alive inside him until he could finally endure it.

But even then, what he felt those first days could return and remind him the grief that was still there, like old barbed wire embedded in a tree's heartwood. The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been and of the long, tedious healing process that made him come through.

A brush of death is Donghae’s darkness but even if all the darkness in the world comes together, they can never extinguish the light that never goes out.

“And there's always a way to begin with.” 
― Autumn Doughton, I'll Be Here

In memory of K,

Your absence was present and it became a part of me.

I was never the same because you took a part of me with you.

How can I move on when your messages are still the first thing I look forward to in the morning, and every song that I hear I imagine hearing it with your voice, and every time my mind wanders it goes  directly to you.

I miss who I was when you were here.

There is no warmth.

It is never day.

But please wait for me.

There’s a lot of things I wanted to ask and say.

For now, I’ll stay with the night.

I’ll always be your moonshine, Maude.