Jongin’s eyes opened slowly, staring up at the white hospital room ceiling. His lungs kept his breathing slow and calm and his heartbeat was measured by a beeping machine he’d been hooked up to.
    This scene was all too familiar to Jongin and he was already tired of it. The check-ups. The surgeries. Everything. He’d missed when he could go to see his friends on the weekends and getting a beer or two before collapsing lazily on his couch to flip through the channels on his TV. But most of all, Jongin missed dancing.
    The passion Jongin had for dancing is the same passion an artist would have for a muse. Jongin was a dancer and taught a few dance classes every other day at a local dance studio. He’d create dances to all types of music and show them off to his students. But he couldn’t do that anymore, and it left him broken and empty like a shattered cookie jar with no sweets inside.
    Two months ago Jongin could dance. He could drink. He was healthy as anyone could possibly be. But then, two months ago, Jongin went in for a physical and the doctor told him he had brain cancer. 
    “Three months,” The tall middle-aged doctor informed a confused Jongin in an empty and cold hospital hallway, “You’ve got three months left to live. We’ll do our best to keep you alive longer, but for now you’ve only got three months.” The doctor’s words didn’t cut or pierce Jongin. They only rushed in one ear and out the other. Jongin just nodded and bowed to the doctor before he walked off silently.
    Try to keep me alive longer? Jongin thought as he headed to his apartment. For what? Why not just let me die. If they try keeping me longer, I’ll only sit through agony in waiting for my time to come. It’s no use. Pull the plug when I’m ready to go. I don’t want to be cursed to wait any longer than I have to..
    The first month, Jongin did nothing differently than he normally would. He just lived as if the cancer wasn’t there to take his life in three months. He danced, he went to work, he hung out with close friends, and drank beer carelessly. 
    In the second month, Jongin was called to the hospital five times for a surgery and several check-ups. His friends worried and called him often, but he shrugged off their constant questions, telling them that he was fine. But it was just a lie. He was dying in all truth in the world. But he wouldn’t admit it.
    Jongin was terrible at giving bad news. He hated the emotion and exaggeration. Each tear, if the person were to cry, stabbed at Jongin’s heart with a spiked club and yanked back out creating scars on the inside and out of Jongin’s core. The ill news of him dying would definitely make people cry. His mother, father, friends, distant family. It would be too much. They’ll find out sooner or later through a chat over coffee or a heading in the newspaper. Just as long as they found out and he didn’t have to tell them. It was better for him to go, knowing the people he held dear to him were happy.
    Here now, Jongin lies in the first day of the third month, on a hospital bed that’s he’s grown to loathe. He glanced over at the calendar on the wall and squinted, trying to read the small date.
    “April 17, 2014,” Jongin mumbled softly, breaking the silence of the small white room like thin glass. He looked down at the tiny needles that were penetrating the flesh on his arm before sitting up and carefully pulling them out.
    Standing up from the bed, Jongin could see his clothes folded up on a visitor’s chair. He stood up before stumbling over to grab them, still slightly drugged from his medicine. The six foot male pulled off the thin white hospital gown then slipped on his black boxer-briefs, dark blue skinny jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt, then finally his slick black jacket with no hood. As he walked to the door he took a second to turn and look in the mirror on the wall, sliding his hands through his soft but slightly messy brown hair. He glanced at himself, his skin slightly paler but still tan, his eyes were dark and dull, almost already lifeless. He didn’t like how he looked. Not anymore. 
    When he finally exited the hospital, he praised himself for not being seen by any nurses or doctors. They all must have been busy because the halls were nearly empty. He felt free again as soon as his lungs captured the damp city air of Seoul, the scent of vendor foods and passing perfume, cologne, and cigarette smoke rushed into his nostrils to be inhaled then exhaled with uninterest. It wasn’t clean, but it was outside. He’d missed being outside. Before now, Jongin was kept inside the hospital for the past week. He was offered contact to his parents, friends, and close relatives, but he refused to talk with anyone but the employees of the big hospital.
    It was Thursday and Jongin had guessed that it was about five in the afternoon because traffic was seen at every stoplight with people who were trying to get home from work. The sky was a dull grey with clouds covering any hint of the bright sun above them. Buildings tall and short towered over the bustling city, creating shadows and dark, uninviting alleys that no one dared to walk through.
    Jongin looked around, trying to remember where the nearest café was. The cancer slowly starting to eat away any memories that seemed the most vulnerable. When he was able to yank a memory from the uncaring grips of the cancer, he began to move his feet and walk to a local jazz café he remembered one of his old friends brought him to, once. As he walked, he slid his hands into his pockets and the memory of his introduction to the café began to play like a movie in the back of his mind.
    “I promise, its great,” Jongin’s best friend Luhan persisted as they walked down the sidewalk. From what Jongin could remember, Luhan had dark blonde hair and gentle dark brown, deer-like eyes. That day, Luhan was wearing a t-shirt of which the color escaped Jongin and pink kaki shorts. Jongin on the other hand was wearing grey skinny jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt. It was about two years ago so Luhan was probably twenty two and Jongin was twenty. 
The season was summer and it wasn’t too hot but yet, hot enough to melt a child’s ice cream. The sun was shining at its highest in the sky and not a cloud was in sight. Jongin had argued with Luan that it was too hot to drink coffee at some café but Luhan wouldn’t let Jongin get out of this journey so easily.
“A jazz club? Great?” Jongin asked with a raised eyebrow, “What could be so great about some small jazz club I’ve never heard about?” Luhan rolled his eyes and just continued to pull Jongin down the sidewalk. 
“It’s a café,” Luhan corrected, “Not a club.”
“What’s the difference?”
“This place serves coffee and has no drunk dancing people with loud music and crazy lighting.”
“So? Clubs can serve coffee, too. And if music of any kind is playing, people will dance to it. I should know, I’m a dancer.”
“Oh shush, Jongin, you’ll like it.”
“Alright, alright,” Jongin chuckled and followed Luhan into the small glass door of the café, hearing the soft tinkle of the bell as the door hit it when it opened.
Soon, the memory faded back into the depths of Jongin’s mind to linger until it was devoured by his cancer. Jongin opened the door of the jazz café and listened to the nostalgic bell of the door, alone this time.
A strong scent of coffee beans filled his senses, giving him energy without even the smallest sip. But something hit him harder than the smell of coffee being served. It was the music that was being played live on a small stage across from the empty counter. The voice that was singing blended more than beautifully with the sound of the instruments, creating a sound like nothing Jongin’s had ever heard before. 
Jongin moved to find a seat in the nearly vacant café lounge. He took a seat close to the counter and gazed up at the stage as if he were in a daze of pure content and peace. The music helped him relax his body and clear his mind of all that was currently troubling him. A girl of the age of twenty sang powerfully but in the softest of ways, like a delicate songbird. Each note that swam past her plump lips and into the room sent chills of the best kind down Jongin’s back.
Jongin took the time to truly admire the girl’s visage. Her cheekbones were slightly round and her eyes were a soft shade of brown, moving from one object in the room to another as she sang. The girl wore a white thin strapped dress designed with pastel pink roses with dark green leaves. The bottom half of the dress from her mid waist down to her mid-thigh where the fabric stopped was pleated. Her shoes were small black slip-ons with a bow on each one.
The girl’s hair was the color of bitter-sweet dark chocolate and hung down to her chest with long bangs slightly hanging over the top of her right eye. Jongin loved how soft the girl’s hair look and most likely felt. She was the picture definition of innocent perfection, which her voice matched delightfully.
Before Jongin knew it, the music had faded and his round lips molded into a slight frown. He watched as the band put away their instruments and the girl walked down the stairs of the stage and into the lounge of the café to grab her jacket from a coat rack. Jongin quickly stood from his chair and began to clap louder than he should have, making the people in the café stare at him curiously. The girl looked over at Jongin and made brief eye contact. She flashed a kind smile and let out a cute giggle before slipping on her coat and heading to the exit.
Jongin blinked as he saw the girl’s actions towards him before smirking proudly to himself. When he got enough courage and realized that the girl was about to leave, Jongin ran over to the angelic girl and smiled a big cheesy smile.
“Hi,” Jongin greeted, the smile not daring to leave his face, “You did really well up there.”
“Thanks,” The girl uttered shyly in a sweet voice. To Jongin, this one girl was the only thing with color in a dull world of black and white surrounding her.
“Your voice is amazing,” Jongin complimented, making the girl’s cheeks turn pink.
“Th-Thanks,” She stuttered, more flattered this time, “Who are you?”
“Kim Jongin. And you?”
“Just call me Soo.”
“Soo,” Jongin repeated softly to himself, liking how her name slid from between his lips, “May I buy you some coffee?”
“No thank you, I have go. I’m sorry,” Soo frowned softly, not wanting to depart yet, something about Jongin made her smile and she wanted to find out why.
“Oh,” Jongin frowned along with her, “Maybe we can meet up again sometime?”
“I’d like that,” Soo nodded, “I’m busy tomorrow so how about we meet at the park on Saturday at three?”
Jongin smiled happily and nodded in agreement, “Sure, sure. I’ll be waiting by the angel fountain in the middle of the park.”
“It’s a date,” Soo replied with a slight giggle, finding Jongin’s eagerness cute, “See you then.”
“Bye,” Jongin called as he watched Soo exit the café and walk out of his sight. He took a seat at the counter and ordered a black coffee. His mind was full of plans and ideas for dates with Soo. But then, suddenly realization hit. Hard.
I’m dying... 
The devastating thought flooding through the cracks of his brain like running water through a group of rocks. If only the cancer could erase itself like it erased his memories like a hand swiping away chalk on a busy blackboard.
I can’t date. The thought continued to pester him. I’ll leave her heartbroken and alone if this date goes well. I guess I’ve just got to call it off. Jongin’s eyes darted to the window to see if Soo was anywhere in sight, maybe close enough for him to chase after her. But it was too late. She was gone and not to be seen again until Saturday. Guess I’ll wait, then.
    Jongin stood from his seat, laying down a few won on the counter to pay for the coffee, then walking to the exit of the now quiet café. He didn’t want to go back to the hospital, so he headed to his apartment near the center of the crowded city.
    The journey home should only take around seventeen minutes because the café wasn’t too far from his destination. He passed through large mobs of people on the busy sidewalks, all with their own stories and futures. They all had one thing that Jongin didn’t, and he would never admit it, but he was jealous and annoyed because of it. They all had a curiosity of when they would pass away. But lucky for them, they could ignore the curiosity and continue to keep the thoughts of death in the back of their minds like a ticking time bomb that only started to tick loud enough to hear when they were old and senile. 
    Jongin was different because his bomb began to tick louder than ever only two months ago, and Jongin was only twenty-two. He could slightly remember when he was in high school and how everyone was planning for their futures. College. Careers. Family. Retirement. But who planned for death? No one. Not even Jongin. But now he was fighting to stay alive not even for a year or a month, but only for just a few more days. Jongin had no future to wake up every morning for. All Kim Jongin had to look forward to, was the end.
    Death was the name of the tall figure that stood luring over Jongin, dressed in black and holding a scythe that he was ready to swing at Jongin at any moment. This figure taunted Jongin, making the tick of the bomb louder. It got so loud to a point where Jongin had nothing left to do but just sit and listen. He couldn’t tell it to stop or the ticking would only grow in volume, teasing him but never going off. Not just yet.
    A deep sigh left Jongin’s lips as he approached his towering brick apartment building. He made his way into the front doors and began to trudge up the stairs to the fourth floor because the elevator was being repaired. A red carpet covered the worn wooden floors and all the doors were painted white with dull tan colored wallpapers on the walls around them. A slight stench of cigarette smoke and animal fur was poisoning the air of the long, wide hallway of the apartment building. The dim lightings of the decorative lamps were beginning to give Jongin a headache. He was used to the bright lighting of the hospital rooms with large windows that oversaw the forest-like courtyard to help calm patients.
    Jongin pulled out his keys for the apartment with the dark golden letters labeled ‘406’ before unlocking the door and shuffling inside the modern kitchen. He slipped off his sneakers onto the grey tiled floor and looked around the dull apartment. The kitchen was open so it connected directly to the living room with no wall but instead a long wooden counter that attached to the left wall of the kitchen. The floor of the rest of the apartment, besides the tiled bathroom, was wood and a few grey rugs lay around on the floors. White cabinets hung over the white wooden counter. A few pictures of old friends and family decorated the tops of the wood with forgotten memories. 
    The two small dogs that used to run up and jump on Jongin’s legs in excitement when the human arrived were no longer in the apartment. If Jongin were to die soon, he didn’t want to leave two dogs alone in a tiny apartment until someone just happened to pass by and hear them there or even find them dead, so Jongin had given the dogs to some relatives out in the country. His aunt said that the two dogs waited by the door and howled all night, wanting Jongin to return. The small act warmed Jongin’s heart to know that they had missed him.
    Scanning the apartment for any signs of change, Jongin slipped off his jacket and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. As he opened the bottle to take a sip he walked into the conjoined living room and slumped down on the old, beat up, black leather couch. He didn’t feel like watching TV or surfing the internet. Jongin just wanted to sit in the silence of his own home in peace.
    Jongin’s foot tapped gently on the worn out wood floor as if he were waiting for something to happen. A friend knocking on the door wanting to just visit for a while, a neighbor asking for a cup of sugar, or even an unknown caller showing up on the caller ID wanting to know when the last time Jongin had a vacation was. Anything to make Jongin feel alive. Anything to stop the waiting.
    After almost five minutes, Jongin couldn’t take it anymore. Anger and frustration mixed with fear and depression and all at once his being snapped, and his mind shriveled into nothing but rage. A loud aggravated scream broke all hints of silence that lingered in the dimly lit living room and he grabbed whatever was close to him and threw it across the room. He needed to vent and release what had built up inside him over the past two months.
    “I don’t want to die,” Jongin cried and threw the TV remote at the wall across from where he sat. “It’s not fair! I have a family! I have friends! My life can’t be over yet!” As Jongin fussed like a child in a tantrum, he stood up and began to hit things and throw other things. Tears flowed down his cheeks like raindrops down a mountainside as he fell to his knees in the middle of his living room. He took two fistfuls of hair and pulled weakly on his dark brown locks as his body ached and his heart was being run down in agonizing anticipation for the end.
    “Just let me live…”