When Hyukjae stood up next, it was because of his desire to see. Not the blurred, messed up vision of the hospital room his tear-filled eyes instilled upon him, but the blondish hair atop the sleeping boy's head, the beauty of his closed eyelids, the length of his nose, the curvature of his lips, the distance between bicep and forefinger, everything he'd 'missed' before—with just the tip of his trembling fingers.

Hyukjae realized, with a painful, overwhelming certainty, that this was the body of Lee Donghae—seventeen and breathing; alive and real. He in a lung-full of air.

“Donghae. . .” Hyukjae exhaled slowly, and somehow, the name felt brand new to his tongue all over again, “Donghae . . . I. . .”

Again, Hyukjae trailed off, overcome by the hoarding emotions that mixed him up inside. He eased himself down onto Donghae's bedside, taking his pale hand into his own and running his fingers along the backside, upwards along the palm, and back down again. He caressed the hand he held in his own, realizing with surprise that Donghae had calloused fingers that didn't match the soft impression his face made.

Surprised as he was, though, Hyukjae found the words then that he'd lost before. He'd found growth and life in those calloused hands.

They connected Donghae's life from the past, with the Donghae he saw now. And he thanked them, dearly.

Touching his forehead against the knuckles of Donghae's left hand, Hyukjae shuddered with each breath he took, “Thank you,” and with each new tear he dropped, “Thank you, so much,” because his heart felt so light, “You held on Donghae. You're alive.”

“You're alive. . .” Hyukjae in a harsh, gasping breath—and faultered.

But how long . . . How long were you trapped underwater? How long did you have to fight? How afraid were you?

Hyukjae's mind glazed over with the memory of a young boy, whose eyes pleaded with his own, and whose voice—'Please don't let go! . . . I don't want to die.'—echoed in his mind.

How traumatized are you. . . ?

Hyukjae exhaled slowly, started again, I'm so sorry, Donghae . . . I promise, I'll make it up to you. He removed his forehead from Donghae's knuckles and placed a soft and quick kiss there in its stead.

From then on, he simply held this pale hand and etched every corner of Donghae's face with his eyes, in which time he couldn't help but question himself.

Is it a sin to be thankful as a guilt-ridden fool?

Kyuhyun widened his eyes the moment he saw his best friend enter the hospital's playroom. Immediately and without second thought, Kyuhyun completely tossed the large red firetruck from his hands and left his puny, plastic blue seat as a child's pained wail broke into the air.

Currently, Hyukjae stopped just beside the bright yellow double doors decorated with butterflies of every color and flowers of all sizes (frankly, to Kyuhyun, it was simply an eyesore) and stared around at the messy room while looking surprisingly near dead. In his left hand he held the hand of the pig-tailed little girl who Kyuhyun had lost before, and she looked quite bored being back at the place she'd run away from, in all honesty.

Despite the cheery atmosphere and the colorful surroundings, the little girl at his side, and the brightness of the severely lit room, Hyukjae looked like complete and utter Hell, and this had Kyuhyun worried.

Seconds later, Kyuhyun was all over the older boy. “What happened, Hyuk?” From such a close proximity, he was able to take in the other's deeply red eyes, “Why were you crying? Tell me why you were—”

“I found your kid, Kyu, look,” Hyukjae smiled wanly and held up the little girl's hand who remained standing at his side. Kyuhyun looked utterly offended.

“You know what? I don't give a single f—” He stopped, sighed frustratedly and proceeded more carefully, yet harshly, “Yay, thanks, dude. The kid can go play in a damn bat's cave, now, for all I care. I just want to know why you were crying, Hyuk. What's wrong?”

Now Hyukjae smiled fully at Kyuhyun, quite pleased that the younger boy was genuinely worried about him . . . But he wasn't sure if he should tell, yet, the exact reason why. So he quickly his lips and began with, “Well. . .” Long pause, “That kid over there in the gray sweatshirt just slapped the kid in the blue and took his toy.”

Kyuhyun glanced backwards and foreword again within seconds. He shrugged, “So? It's learning the means of survival, Hyuk. Sometimes, you just have to slap some people around and steal their things to get anywhere in this world.”

Hyukjae's mouth dropped open slightly, aghast, “But, Kyu, the other kid is cryi—”

“Damn, don't they all!?” Kyuhyun threw his hands up in complete annoyance, shook his head, and began glaring at Hyukjae, “Now stop changing the subject to,” he waved his hand blindly behind him, “those. Tell me why you were crying.”

Hyukjae sighed deeply though his nose, “Kyu, I—”

“Friend!”

Both boys' heads shot downward immediately to the little girl at Hyukjae's side. “What?” Kyuhyun asked curtly, and the little girl pointed a stubby finger at Hyukjae.

“Friend!”

Hyukjae felt his heart swell, “Awwwww, she said I'm her friend, Kyu. We're friends!” He exclaimed in a puddle of feels. He bent down and hi-fived the little girl, cooing over how adorable her little pig-tails were.

Kyuhyun couldn't relate, though, “It needs to go make new friends!” He bellowed meanly and rolled his eyes, his neck, and then his shoulders when Hyukjae gave him a disproving look.

“Kids, Kyu, children. They're called children; not 'it' and 'those'! And Nina here has an actual name, as do the other kids behind you, I'm sure.” Hyukjae insisted.

Kyuhyun stared down at his older friend, then turned his head randomly to the left and witnessed a little boy around five dig a finger into his nose and then rub it along the back of an oblivious little girl who was tearing pages out of a pop-up book. He shuddered.

“I highly doubt it. . .”

A couple seconds were lost to the silence it required to watch the short children terrorize the room gloriously. Though when Nina tapped Hyukjae on the nose so hard it turned red, he answered her with a polite hum.

Nina beamed, small teeth showing fully, “Me. Friend. Go play!” She pointed to a battery-powered race track with a set of mini NASCAR's darting about it. Nina's eyes were glowing when Hyukjae checked for seriousness, and he was immensely glad that Nina was somehow tomboy material.

No need to play pony, house, read a fairy tail, or do anything else that required giving the cute little girl his full attention. He didn't think he was capable of such a thing at the moment, as his mind was still stuck somewhere in that hospital room he'd left just a short a while ago.

Hyukjae nodded his head at the little lady before him, “Okay, Nina, let's go play.”

Nina let out a squeak of happiness and grabbed at Hyukjae's hand, forcing him to stand as she pulled him toward the noisy toy. Kyuhyun, though, stopped Hyukjae's progress with a stiff hand to his chest. Nina's fingers slipped from Hyukjae's grasp, but the little girl didn't even stop to wonder and clambered off to her desired destination.

“You will tell me later, won't you?” Kyuhyun asked, his voice soft yet tensed with worry for Hyukjae. From ten years' experience, he knew Hyukjae hardly cried and only had weird mood swings when something huge was bothering him.

And not much of anything did.

Hyukjae used the back of his hand to pry Kyuhyun's arm away, “Yeah, yeah. I'll tell you.” Hyukjae smiled then at Kyuhyun, warmly and seemingly okay, “You worry too much, little brother.” He finished, and with a soft tap on the taller boy's shoulder, Hyukjae waltzed away to be by little Nina's side.

It was then that Kyuhyun had an inkling of what was wrong. However it happened and whenever it started Kyuhyun didn't know, but the moment Hyukjae referred to him as 'little brother' Kyuhyun was positive that he'd remembered that Lee Donghae boy again—like really remembered.

It was the only thing that could make Hyukjae look so terribly torn again, and for his sake, Kyuhyun had wished that that day would never come.

Hyukjae dismissed himself to his room the moment he and Kyuhyun stepped through their front door, and Kyuhyun let him go. He figured he wouldn't pry anymore and let Hyukjae come to him when he needed to. It was what he always did, anyway, and Kyuhyun had gotten used to the waiting a long time ago.

Upstairs, Hyukjae slowly pushed open his bedroom door, paying only half attention to the loud squeak that came off its poor hinges. Disregarding the light switch, he dragged his feet across the carpeted floor, creating friction with his socks, and lugged his nearly empty backpack on his shoulders as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

In this way, Hyukjae navigated his way through the dark room and to his bed at the room's center. He dropped his backpack at the foot of the bed and literally let himself face plant into the mattress, both mentally and physically drained.

He groaned, Today was a long day, he thought tiredly, Too long. Despite it only being around 8pm that Wednesday night, Hyukjae was just about ready to call it a night and wake up fully rested for the next day, for once.

But even without the soft voice of interruption a couple minutes later, he already knew sleep would be impossible unless he got it out. He'd been thinking about it constantly since his time in the small hospital room. Hyukjae knew he just had to ask.

“Hyukjae,” Donghae whispered as if too loud a voice would alarm the dark, “Hyukjae, are you o—”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Hyukjae asked suddenly. Though his voice was muffled by the bed's sheets and Donghae scrunched up his face in the mirror, struggling to make out the words.

“What? Sorry, I didn't hear. . .”

Hyukjae huffed in an aggravated air and adjusted his position to lean on his right elbow, facing the tall closet mirror. It was dark in the room, and Hyukjae could hardly make out Donghae's silhouette, but he glared nevertheless. “Why didn't you tell me that you were alive, Donghae?”

Although there were signs and too many clues, he'd long ago come to terms with the thought that Donghae had died as a child. Donghae was supposed to be only a reflection. A personal companion to help him come to terms with his mistake in the past.

So finding out on his own like he did, and after so long . . . His voice was hard with a hint of the usual pain Donghae was familiar with and he flinched at the sound, stammering as he replied.

“I-I—It's just—the false hope, Hyukjae. I—” He inhaled a deep breath, “I didn't want to tell you. At least—at least not yet. I . . . I just didn't want you to suffer with any false hope . . . That's all. I'm sorry I—”

Donghae broke off at the sudden sound of Hyukjae's dry laugh. “Suffer? Donghae I've been suffering for ten years. Miserable at the fact that I was some weakling child—”

“You weren't weak. You have to understand that under those circumstances—”

“I was a weak child, Donghae, that couldn't save you when I needed to the most, when you sacrificed yourself at the expense of my carelessness that day. It was my fault, all of it, and I've been suffering with that knowledge ever since.

“And now, when I've finally been given the gift of a lifetime, the relief at realizing I hadn't actually killed you off a long time ago, you wanted to keep that from me?”

Donghae felt like a withering, aged leaf, “You're making me out to be the bad guy! I just wanted to save you from holding onto false hope, hope that isn't concrete, and then being disappointed should the outcome be bad. Why can't you understand that?”

Hyukjae sat up on the bed now, leaned over to pull the chain that would turn on the lamp that sat on his nightstand, “Because I've always wanted to feel at least the hope that I hadn't ended a life that had hardly started, no matter how false it may have turned out to be. I wanted to feel it, Donghae . . . I can't believe you tried taking that away from me.”

Donghae had tried keeping it to himself that he was alive because he knew from experience, even currently, that false hope was a painful thing. But from his fixed position in the mirror's reflection, he could see Hyukjae only and the eyes that glistened with unshed tears in the room's dim light.

And that familiar guilty expression. He knew then, that never having that hope to begin with could actually be more painful than anything.

“I . . . I didn't know . . . I'm sorry, Hyukj—”

“Forget it.” The older of the two, more exhausted than he was before, flopped down sideways onto his mattress, “And Hyuk is fine. . .” he added quietly.

Donghae wasn't sure at that moment whether to remain in the solemn mood the entire room seemed to have taken to or if it was appropriate to embrace the fact that he was suddenly melting inside.

He chose the latter, unconsciously breathing so deeply it alerted the already half-asleep Hyukjae, “Hyu—Hyu. . .” He wheezed, “You serious? Like . . . really?”

Hyukjae poked an eye open, finding himself more amused at Donghae's breathy voice than angry anymore, “Uh, yeah.” He then witnessed Donghae gnawing on his bottom lip, “Too soon?” He offered, and flinched when Donghae replied.

“No! No of course not!” Donghae bellowed before he could stop himself. Then, clearing his throat awkwardly a second later, he continued with, “I mean. . . Y-You know I said that 'Hae' was fine a long time ago, right?”

Hyukjae blinked at him momentarily before his features softened and a light laugh coupled with a sweet smile that made Donghae's stomach churn in the most welcome of ways graced his lips, and he spoke, “I do, but only when you can really hear it and can respond to me like I want you to. That's when I'll say it.”

Donghae nearly missed his next breath with that one. His smile faded quickly. His eyebrows creased, “Hyukjae. . .”

“You don't plan on keeping me hanging forever, do you? Until I'm eighty and can only remember you as a seventeen year old reflection in my bedroom mirror?” With a playful air, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Or do you?”

Slowly, Donghae swallowed and shook his head in answer.

“Good,” Hyukjae said, “because until then, I'll be calling you 'Donghae'.” He finalized his promise with a wink and another smile that had Donghae's heart skipping a couple beats.

If he had to be honest, though, Donghae would admit that he was immensely worried at the moment, because there was that false hope literally radiating from Hyukjae and building up even within himself again. It scared him.

It really was painful.

What if none of that ever happens, Hyukjae? Then what would you do?

But as Hyukjae stretched upward to turn out the dim light, as he flipped onto his left side with his back facing Donghae, as he mumbled a tired, “Night, Donghae,” and sighed in contentment once Donghae wished him the same, Donghae realized, with a hand already poised in midair, that denying hope altogether and fighting the desire that maybe one day he could be there by Hyukjae's side was much more painful than he could bear. Hope was an escape. It was a possibility despite how disappointing it sometimes was.

And if anyone dared try to convince him that wishful thinking was more painful than anything short of death that any one person could experience, he would surely be able to ask them, now:

Was it hope, or was it reality, that caused him such unbearable pain when he looked out from beyond the edge of nothing and touched the glass with a hand that would never reach? He'd tried it before, so he had proof.

He couldn't reach Hyukjae from where he was, and that literally hurt him more than anything.

“So, you're one hundred percent sure that you weren't aware of anything that happened in your hospital room yesterday? Or in the entire hospital, for that matter?”

Donghae arched an eyebrow at Hyukjae who was currently mumbling out of the corner of his mouth with his face stuck nose-deep into his English textbook in attempt to appear as if he was really reading along with the class. “Well, yes. I was completely stuck in this white-walled room with no exits whatsoever, which was really scary, until you walked into your house yesterday. Why, though?” Donghae asked.

Hyukjae flicked his eyes toward Donghae's figure in the small mirror he purposely set up inside his binder and propped up against the wall beside him. “No reason,” he mumbled.

Since Hyukjae sat in the farthest seat possible at the back of the classroom with empty desks to both his left and right, he could speak more freely to the invisible boy than he usually could in his other classes. Though he spoke softly still, for the class was nearly silent save for the odd student reading aloud from the textbook once the teacher called on them.

Pouting a little as he normally did, Donghae questioned Hyukjae further, “You're being kind of suspicious, you know . . . What did you do?”

Quietly as he could, Hyukjae scoffed, “What makes you think I did anything?” He scoffed, “Silly goose.”

Now Donghae laughed loudly, causing Hyukjae to flinched sharply at the abrupt sound. He was absolutely positive that Hyukjae was a big fat liar, “You did do something! I know you did!”

There goes that laugh again, Hyukjae thought after recovering, and found himself smiling stupidly at the foreign words in his textbook. Despite the mediocre struggle, he couldn't help himself in taking a quick peek at Donghae's face as he cracked up by himself.

Beside himself now with bubbling feels, Hyukjae lay his head down in the crease of his textbook and giggled to himself several times before he was calm enough to lift back up and pretend to read along again, by which time Donghae had calmed down as well.

Wiping the tears of mirth that had spilled unwilled from his eyes, Donghae sniffled and asked in a gleeful voice, “No really, tell me what happened.”

He didn't expect to see in the next second Hyukjae nip at his bottom lip and shake his head slightly. If that didn't mean that something was really up, then Donghae didn't know what did.

Uber curious, now, Donghae leaned forward far enough for his forehead to clink against the glass, “I get it, Hyukjae.” He said in a mystic voice that would have anyone wondering, and just left it at that.

Hyukjae waited a minute before he whispered a bit shakily, “Get what?”

Donghae nodded, as if he completely cracked the case, “You did something to me, didn't you?”

Hyukjae straightened his back a little. How embarrassing would it be, he thought, if Donghae found out I'd kissed his knuckles like some prince would do a princess while crying like a baby? Oh my Gooooood! He was internally mortified.

Hyukjae kind of coughed a little, “N-No. Why—How could I do something bad to a patient? I'm not heartless!”

Completely out of nowhere, Donghae let out an incredulous gasp, “You violated me, Oh. My—Hyukjae. You—”

The accused really did start choking on his spit, now, “W-What, no I—”

Donghae smacked his palms to his cheeks loudly and opened his mouth wide, screaming, “You poked and prodded at me with those naughty fingers of yours.” Donghae gasped again, “You st-stuck them up my—”

“Oh, God, no!” Hyukjae shouted loudly, completely stopping the flow of the class and causing every last head to turn back to stare at him.

As they stared, Hyukjae flushed a deep, very deep shade of striking pink. “I-I—” He began just as the students burst out laughing at his ridiculous flustered appearance.

“Do you have some type of objection you want to make clear regarding the story, Hyukjae?”

“N-No