Their plan, a scattered mess of hurried thoughts and murmured words, was not something she liked to dwell on. But there was nothing else to do in the white room. So she ran through the steps in her head until they seemed to flow through her, as if following the path of her blood. Their success mainly depended on one crucial detail she assumed to be true.

Her fate rested on Kris’s fear of his own blood.

She had squirreled away a small shard of glass, the sharpest one from the pile of broken mirror pieces. In hindsight, it was quite a good thing she had smashed everything breakable in the room; the result was a plethora of inconspicuous weapons. For what seemed like a very long period time, in between perfecting the plan and staring into nothingness, she her little piece of glass. The sound of the door creaking open surprised her. She pressed down on the glass, cutting herself. A tiny red river flowed down her index finger.

“It’s me.” Kris stood by the door. Jerkily, he interlaced his fingers while shifting from foot to foot. He resembled a high-schooler unsure of what he was doing. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Gently, so as to not arouse suspicion, she patted at the spot on the bed next to her. She leaned back slightly, and folded a piece of the white bed-sheet over the shard of glass. Kris came, in long strides that seemed to restore his confidence. He sat down, conscious of the distance he was leaving between them. His lips were pursed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. She knew why. Even if Sehun hadn’t told her, she would have known. She was useless as an ally, but invaluable as a sacrifice.

“Words mean very little,” she said. “I’m sorry too.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “You have no idea how much we’ve suffered to come to this point. How much time we spent wasting away waiting for heaven. We’re so close.” His tone grew harsher as he continued on. “This isn’t life. We can only retreat to the shadows and obsess over how we died.”

“Don’t force what you believe on me,” she snapped, turning away from him. He was too angry, and too hurt to think of anything else.

“Really?” he asked sarcastically. He tilted his head toward her, a sardonic smile on his lips. “How much time have you spent hating Sehun for killing you? How many breaths have you spent reliving your last moments alive?”

She hated to admit it, but he had a point. Her mind always plunged back into her death as soon as she stopped thinking about the plan. The pain. The betrayal. The unfairness of it all. But she was also searching for the link that would give her more than just agony. She was looking for the happiness.

“I can look beyond that,” she said. “I can try.”

“Of course you can try. We all try. But it never works.”

“Why?” She was testing his patience.

“Because none of us died natural deaths. We died in pain, in so much pain.”

“It came to me instantaneously,” she lied, watching his face. It was inscrutable.

“You’re lying.”  

“How would you know?” She dangled the bait and paused for a moment.

“How did you die?”

It was a risky move. He stared at her with narrowed eyes. His mouth was pressed into a line. She was about change the subject when he shook his head in disgust.

“You want to know?” He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “A girl stabbed me. She was weak. But her aim was good enough to keep me on the ground for a good hour or so.” He continued. “Do you know what it feels like to watch the blood flow out of your body? To know you’re just slowly dying. Breath by breath. Minute by minute. Numbness. And all you can see is that goddamn red.”

His breathing grew ragged, and yet his eyes were hard. She couldn’t say anything without sounding contrived, so she lowered her gaze and waited for him to speak. Slowly, he leaned forward, and he let out a long breath.

“All this time, I’ve never felt happiness. But it’s different when I’m with you,” he said quietly. “In some ways, I’m making a sacrifice too. Small, insignificant maybe, but still a sacrifice nonetheless.”

“What do you want?”

“More time.”

“For what?”

“For this.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips for what she knew to be the last time. It was as if they were in a haze, soft and still. For a short eternity, he overwhelmed her, even with the coldness of the glass cutting into her palm. She placed her hands on his face, only letting him feel the warmth of her fingers. They lingered in that stasis, until she drew the shard down his face, in a movement that was as careful as it was crude.

Yes, she thought as she watched his eyes focus and grow frantic. They were all giving up something.