-Mors ultima ratio-

The younger tilts his head to the side, now with his eyes half-lidded and the back of his head acquiesced at the backrest of the passenger seat. There was a sound he just heard, a voice if he wasn’t mistaken. However, he wasn’t able to fully grasp the words that seemed to dance through and out of his ears.

As if the other man driving the vehicle they are currently in understood his situation, taking a quick glance at his brother but almost immediately returning his complete focus on the endless concrete road in front of them, he repeated.

“I said, tell me about it.” Although Suho constructed a sentence, the younger took a longer time to fully take every word in, his eyes now diverted at the same seemingly infinite road ahead.

And then he realized. Save for the fact that there is indeed a story, no one really knew how it all started. Not even Kim Jongin himself. Or perhaps, the beginning has long been stored at the most isolated part of the back of his brain, the inevitability of it dying happened.

The point is, there is a story. The problem though is how to start a story without a beginning?

A soft smile curved Jongin’s lips after confessing he might not be able to satisfy the listener. The latter responded with a soft chuckle, while his hands cautiously maneuvered the steering wheel. Suho understood that his younger brother is not really much of a story-teller. So even before Jongin started narrating the story, Suho waived him the technical English moral code of Coherence. Besides, Suho’s married to science, not linguistics. There is really no need for him to be a grammar-nazi now.

“It’s quite a long drive. How about doing me a favor by talking so I wouldn’t go to sleep?” The elder spoke again. Now, more eager to really hear what his brother has to say. Suho wanted to know, how Jongin was saved. Because Suho was aware, long before he finally has the gut to ask his brother about it. He knows that whatever he will be hearing for the next couple of minutes (or maybe hours), contributed to his salvation too.

A hushed sigh before Jongin’s chest constricted upon his exhales. It was longer than how his breathing normally takes, but that miniscule amount of extra time was what Jongin actually needed.

Then after what seemed like an eternity, Jongin vigilantly parted his lips as he began digging for the start of a story that’s been so long buried at the Graveyard of Forgotten Memories…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Recurring sound of the medical heart rate monitor concluded Jongin’s unwilling dismissal from the Department of Unconsciousness. Even in the darkness, for his eyes have probably decided to still keep themselves shut, he could hear footsteps getting louder, nearer.

In his unsure estimate, there were two souls excluding his that are now heading towards his location and if he guessed it correctly, they are medical staff responsible in checking his vital signs.

“He’s stable… blood level… heart rate… normal… tomorrow…” Everything was fuzzy. He wanted to speak, but aside from his apparently quite dysfunctional sense of hearing, the only perfectly functioning sense from his five senses is the sense of feeling. And God knows how much he just wished he lost that sense too.

Everything was painful, yet he cannot even shout his wanted cries or move to kill himself—again. His life is just so mockingly satirical even the award-winning tragedy movie writers would kneel in shame.

Failures were as normal as the oxygen he breathes, while ill-fated events were inevitable like how people would eventually need food and water. It’s not exactly that his life revolved around crap and load of bulls, but fair enough because the comparison is close.

And what brings Kim Jongin here, at a place where the absence of colors is dominant and where prayers are more heard than churches? The place Jongin really abhors, filled with beeping monitors, crushed hearts, hopeless and hopefuls, and wandering souls, also known as Heaven gone wrong.

So again, what brings him here? If he concluded it right, the patron saint of cruel life is now laughing like a madman, mockingly pointing at him. Not many people would voluntarily buy the last ticket home, yet unluckily for him, the doors shut just before he could take a step to the start of nothingness, or whatever it is that lies beyond there.

Because again, Kim Jongin fails bigtime. He couldn’t even properly kill himself.

“He hasn’t woken up yet, doctor?” It was a new voice he heard, a woman in particular. And now that he realized it, he was wrong on his earlier theory. Aside from the two people earlier, there was another human within his perimeter. And surprisingly, his ears have started adapting for he was just able to hear a complete sentence.

“Not yet. Your new roommate here lost a lot of blood. When he wakes up, do me a favor and be his friend. Are you feeling well?” The doctor answered with a composed tone. And Jongin figured that doctors always talked this way—unemotional and intimidating… just like his father.

“Of course. He could be my last roommate for all I know.” The obvious bitterness of her statement didn’t quite reflect her manner of speaking. It sounded like a casual conversation exchanged between two friends under a refreshing cup of tea. Like she long accepted a certain reality.

“Don’t say that.” This time, the other companion of the doctor, a nurse perhaps called his attention. Nurses are far more sympathetic, he guessed so.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Silence enveloped the fleeting yet suffocating moment, until a soft thud between two metals broke the ice.

“I still have a couple of rounds. You should rest.” A soft hum was the response from the apologetic soul before the two more physically capacitated figures bid her goodbye. Careful, hospital-y, footsteps came afterwards, walking away, and then the door finally shuts.

“You’ll leave me too, won’t you? But, you need to wake up soon so we can talk longer. Okay, Jongin?” How she knew his name is a mystery he couldn’t really solve at the moment. Maybe, for the longest time he was asleep and trying to die, other people namely: the doctor just now, acquainted him to her instead. Which maybe a good thing, he was never fond of introductions.

The next thing he heard was the soft crumples of sheets and the familiar beeping of a monitor he lately, instinctively ignored. When everything else started sounded like a blur, the beeping became louder in his ear and everything’s back to being unbearably painful.

Slowly, he lost all sense of his hearing again. The sedatives injected in him awhile ago must have started taking effect. And then he was dragged back to nothingness.

He has no idea if it was hours, or days, or even weeks when his body finally adjusted to the fact that he was indeed alive. Along those times though, he would hear the same woman talk to him. In his sleep, he would hear her voice, or maybe during the times when he’s in between the thin line of consciousness and unconsciousness.

The day his eyes reunited with the light, she was the first person he saw. He clearly remembered how ecstatic she looked, as if her eyes all the life in the world, and how hurriedly she pressed a certain button just above her bed which called for who he thinks was the same doctor who visited him, hours, days, or maybe weeks ago?

As expected, the doctor checked his vital signs, while jotting down medical records in his little notebook. He introduced himself as Doctor Choi Dongwook while telling him that it’s better to not push himself and take his time recovering. He reminded him of the fact that he lost a lot of blood and that it was really a miracle that he was alive. Jongin didn’t care to ask, but the doctor informed him that it was his friend (or more appropriately, his colleague), Chen, who called nine-one-one and rushed him to the hospital.

It was unspoken, but the words uttered in between blurred lines when Doctor Choi was just telling him information he thinks he should know, Jongin was reminded of how much of a failure he really is. For Pete’s sake, he’s so tired he just wanted to end everything but even the Minister of death doesn’t want to accept him.

“Oh, and Mr. Kim…” Doctor Choi spoke again after clicking his pen, finished with whatever notes he was just jotting down.

“You’ll have to share this room for a week. The hospital’s jampacked with patients. If you’re still unwell after a week, you’ll be transferred to a private room, or if your body could manage, to the Seoul Metropolitan Hospital. Don’t worry about the bills, someone already took care of them.“

Jongin could only laugh. It was his father, of course. Who else would order to let him transfer to the best hospital where his dad is working? And the knowledge of being held alive by his father only makes Jongin want to kill himself more.

“For now, I’ll leave you with Ms. Lee.” Without further ado, the doctor turned his heel and exited towards the door.

He was about to close his eyes when he realized a pair of eyes staring at his direction, staring at him. It was the first time he really studied her face, and he doesn’t need to imagine the owner of that familiar woman’s voice in his sleep anymore.

She has bigger eyes compared to the general Koreans he knew, jet-black hair that ends just above her shoulders, and a slim petite nose that compliments her face. She was pretty outstanding, except for the abnormal paleness of her skin, looking almost like she has lost as much blood as he did.

“Uh, Hi.” Two obviously awkward-sounding words, if ever the first is even counted as one, echoed the claustrophobic white-ceilinged room where they are currently imprisoned.

And although Jongin loathes the world in general, he couldn’t really pinpoint the underlying reason why he felt less than than he felt minutes ago when she smiled at him—still as awkward as her recent greetings.

“Hi.” It wasn’t his intention to sound cold, so he wasn’t really sure how it ended up that way. He must have wrongly presented himself to her. However, even if he felt a little bad having an arrogant first impression, it’s not like it mattered anyway. Explaining himself to people was never part of his expertise.

Light chuckles filled his ears, and when he stared back at her, confusion embraced his sanity.

“I’m sorry, don’t mind me.” She coughed and calmed herself before continuing to speak again.

“I’m Lee Joowon. You can call me Joo.” And there it was. Another smile that might reach the end of this universe. She was too happy for his own liking, because this person that goes by the name Lee Joowon smiled like it was the easiest goddamned thing in the world. How much he wished he could learn the art of happiness too.

“Uh, I’m Kim Jongin.” It was a response out of courtesy and she nodded with the same bright smile that would involuntary affect the shape of her eyes that would turn them to crescent moons.

“Kim Jongin.” She repeated, more like a mumble for herself, but loud enough for the owner of the recently uttered name to hear.

“I see you’re not the happy type… But it’s okay, I’ve met worse.” Maybe it was this day, he really wasn’t sure. Jongin fell first for her smile, something he concluded was just a normal physical attraction. Somehow, being alive when he thought it was better for him to disappear in existence didn’t feel as much harsher than he felt before.

Three nights after their formal introduction happened to be calm as the deep and serene flow of the river Nile. Those nights consisted of Joowon talking about her life experiences, her family, and her interests in life, while being interrupted by Doctor Choi, and another doctor of Joowon—Doctor Kwon—for daily check-ups and records.

In addition, those nights consisted of Jongin listening and learning about a girl who has now lived seventeen years of her life and counting, who sounds like a normal, healthy person because for fourteen years, she actually was.

“You’re stronger than you think. Those people… they’re afraid to die.” She paused as if cautiously trying to formulate the right words to say.

“But Jongin, you’re not.” She finished saying. Jongin told her the truth at a time somewhere between those three nights. In all honesty, he thought he was telling her more than what she should know, but in the end he spilled everything to her like a confession of a dying person.

“So how does it feel?” she started again, big eyes looking at him quizzically.

“Dying, I mean. Doc Choi said you died, for a minute or so.” Somehow, the way Joowon asks him questions doesn’t sound offending compared to if maybe Chen, whom he believes is the closest person he has as a friend, would. It was overwhelming yet comforting; in a sense even smart people couldn’t fully explain.

“I really don’t know. I didn’t remember feeling anything. Just… complete black-out. Just pure nothingness. Oblivion.” He said matter of factly, while he scanned his stitched right wrist, now looking like it’s about time for it to heal.

“It must be lonely to die.” She remarked, while now lying on her back against the hospital bed, and diverting her focus from him to the ceiling, unreachable to both of them.

“As I said, there’s nothing. I don’t even think I have the time to feel lonely.” He countered immediately, while he too started lying on his back, the both of them now staring at the white ceiling above.

“I’m not referring to you, Jongin.” She sternly said, but without irritation. It’s how she usually speaks, yet Jongin didn’t respond anymore. Instead, he turned his head to the side looking at her, the same time she looked at him.

His eyes were still occupied with misery and her empathizing stare felt like tearing every secret he has left. It was affection, care to be exact. For the first time in the longest time, there was this person who feels for him, saying she’s a friend if he doesn’t mind. Unconsciously, Jongin started hoping it was more.

“It must be lonely, for the people you almost left behind.”

Somehow, he wasn’t able to monitor himself. It was pretty funny-crazy, really. To think that he was already attracted to Joowon, but it was effortless for her.

Conservatively speaking, it was too soon and too fast for even other people to realize it. He was falling.

Harder.

Deeper.

Helplessly.

But maybe he doesn’t need to question how hasty his feelings are. Besides, most people exhaust time because they’re simply consumable with expiration.

Time is limited. And sometimes, too limited for some specific people.