an: It peeves me to no end that the 'Kangteuk' tag never works on this site.

Youngwoon closed his eyes to the dull yellow of the fluorescent lights above his hospital bed, and a long, slow breath escaped his dry, pale lips. The constant, rhythmic beeping from the machine beside him stopped, replaced by a droning, endless ring. 

So, this was death. So many hours he’d spent lying in that bed just thinking of his regrets, over and over like a song stuck on repeat. So many years he’d wasted, drowning in liquor and nicotine and poisoning his body beyond repair. He never loved, he never achieved. He just existed.

He guessed it was about time it all ended, he was surprised he’d even lasted that long. His mother had always said he’d die young with all the poison running through his veins, but she was wrong, she was always wrong. Though, he’d always thought he’d at least die handsome rather than shrivelled and grey and yellowing like an old book. It wasn’t the image he saw when he pictured his last moments.

Was this really all there was? Just a darkness, a time to think, see all that you’ve done wrong in life? He’d expected pearly gates, white light and trumpets, not darkness.

He sighed. Wait, how could he sigh if he was dead? He opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh light beaming down at him, and he grimaced inwardly. Just when he thought it was finally over, there was still more. It was silent, though, as he stared at the ceiling. The beeping was gone, not even the other patients could be heard, snoring and mumbling in their sleep.

He tilted his head toward the bottom of his bed, feeling his breath catch at the sight he saw. A man robed in white, eyes deep and thoughtful and seemingly so full of kindness, his face handsome in a gentle way, a hand outstretched towards him. Either an angel or a psychiatric patient – Youngwoon hoped for the angel.

‘Who are you?’ he asked quietly, shyly, as if in the audience of someone important. There was something about this man, something that made him feel safe, yet at the same time, so afraid. Every inch of his old body tensed in fear.

‘I’m here to take you away,’ he said, a soft edge to his light voice, not directly answering Youngwoon’s question, ‘take my hand.’

Youngwoon looked from the mans face to his pale, outstretched hand, and back again, feeling a whisp of anxiety coil inside his chest, a mixture of excitement and caution. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he whispered, the words seeming to spill from his dry mouth without warning, but the man simply smiled, his eyes creasing kindly and a small dimple pressing into the crease of his cheek.

‘This isn’t the end,’ he said, ‘merely the beginning.’

He saw the fear in Youngwoon’s aged, sad eyes, and once more he opened his palm towards him. He hesitated, but slowly, he stretched out his hand to hold onto the strangers outstretched one, slowly, warily.

His eyes opened in awe as his wrinkled, rough hands grew smooth and soft as they met with the strangers, his heart feeling suddenly lighter and every bone in his body, every ache he’d ever felt being soothed and relaxed. His eyes followed the hand he was holding ever so gently up to the kind face looking back at him, and all of a sudden he was surrounded by white, warm and fresh and pure. The strangers smile grew, teeth revealed, and his skin was bathed in a soft glow.

‘Who are you?’ he found himself saying it again, and he didn’t know why. He was sure he’d seen this man before, yet he knew for sure they’d never met.

‘We met once, in a past life,’ his eyes grew sad and moist with tears, ‘I’ve waited so long.’

Without thinking, he pressed a thumb against his cheek to catch the tear slowly rolling down the mans flawless skin, and his hands found themselves on either side of that beautiful face, his lips pressed to a pair of softer ones before he pulled away and looked into his eyes.

‘Jungsu,’ he whispered, leaning his forehead against the other mans, lips pressed together, ‘how could I forget you. My guardian angel.’