Ji Young’s was their favorite restaurant, a hole in the wall diner where you had to use both hands to eat and silverware only came if you asked for it. They served really greasy food and specialized in a chili burger that burned the lining of your stomach. It was good stuff. It was their dad’s favorite spot, an American style eatery that he worked at for a few months. It’s where he met his wife, Jinki and Taemin’s mother. Fate was entwined with this diner. So to honor them, Jinki and Taemin found the time in their schedules to come to the diner at least once a week and have a meal together. 

The owner, Ji Young, an old family friend, often gave them discounts on their meal with a friendly wink to Jinki and a kiss to Taemin’s forehead. Because Jinki worked so hard, she normally slid him a milkshake to go along with their meals. It always started an argument, where Taemin would dive for the milkshake, vanilla with bits of chocolate sprinkled on the top of a dollop of whipped cream, and Jinki would yank it back in time, sticking his tongue out right before he slurped half of it down. On other days, the conversation was a little more serious, somber, a glaring look into why they fought to smile and blinked back tears at night before going to sleep.

“I got a call today,” Jinki said in passing as he poured a glob of ketchup on his plate for his fries. 

Taemin took a bite of his burger. “You did?” he mumbled around the thick bread and juicy meat. “From who?”

“Cargo Entertainment,” Jinki stated, his attention still on his fries. 

Taemin’s fast paced chomping slowed to a measured crawl as he looked down at his plate. There was a moment of silence, where Jinki stared at Taemin and Taemin made it his business to not look up. Eventually, Taemin swallowed his mouthful of food. 

Jinki tilted his head. “They said you aced your interview. They want you to dance with their nightclub tour? He also went over the pay with me. It’ll be less than what you make at the Youth Center.”

“I have to start somewhere,” Taemin muttered as he finally looked up.

“I know you do. And I’m proud of you but it’s not like you can dance for the rest of your life. School is important. One of us has to go to school.”

“Or I can go to school for dance,” Taemin said, his voice going high with hope. “I checked out a few schools with dance programs. I even spoke to the director from one. It’s a really good one. Sujin Kang went there. It’s…in Monaco.”

“Monaco.” Jinki blinked. “As in the Monaco in Europe? 

“Yeah, that Monaco.  And it’s really prestigious, all the great dancers go.” 

Jinki took a sip of his milkshake and stopped. It tasted sour, just like Taemin’s words, coating his tongue and making him scrunch up his face. “You could but–“

“Jesus, don’t do this, Jinki.”

Jinki heard the sound of a plate being pushed and looked up to see his younger brother with his hands tucked across his chest. The look on his face wasn’t angry, more of a subtle frustration that turned his soft features into carved stone. The corners of his mouth were turned down and Jinki resisted the urge to scrub his hands across his face tiredly. 

“Don’t you understand I just want you to have a secure future? A good one. School, education, money in your pocket. Happiness… all of that .”

Taemin’s frown withered away and a smirk replaced it. “Happiness and all that ?Watch your mouth. I’m an impressionable youth. I’d hate to pick up your bad habits.”

Jinki snorted and took another sip of his milkshake. It tasted like vanilla again. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent. You picking up my bad habits. Like chasing dreams.”

Taemin rolled his eyes. “That’s not fair,” he said as he rolled a wishbone charm on a gold chain between his fingers.  “You can’t compare my dreams to yours. You never had a chance. I got in the way, I know that and I’m sorry but I actually have a chance. I do and I can finally contribute. Make this work.”

Jinki heard the sigh leaving his mouth before he realized he’s done it. He looked at Taemin briefly, before his eyes wandered to the diner window. It was snowing. He pushed the plate holding Taemin’s unfinished burger towards him. 

“Finish your meal,” he said quietly. 





The wind outside was brisk and it cut deep, blowing snow in their faces as they walked down the sidewalk on the way to their apartment in silence. Taemin huddled closer to his brother, poking at him, trying to get him to laugh. Jinki didn’t bite, opting to tug his scarf over his mouth. It was hard to stay mad, or upset, or even disappointed with his younger brother. Taemin had the sort of smile that forthcoming and easy.  It lit up his face and in turn always warmed whatever misgivings Jinki had.

Despite the fact Taemin was just as tall as he was and had a smart mouth and even smarter wit, to Jinki, Taemin was still eleven years old in his eyes, glancing up at his older brother, who was still a child himself, with vulnerability in his eyes and the fear of the unknown.  It was that look in his eyes, as they stood over their parent’s caskets, that made Jinki want to be everything for him–his provider, his brother, his parent. And so that’s what he became. 

He would do anything to make Taemin smile.

For I am my brother’s keeper. 

Jinki waited until Taemin turned away, dejected, shoulders slumped, before he pounced, jumping onto his kid brother’s back and wrestling him to the ground. He trapped the younger man’s arms to his side using his legs as a vice and began scooping the freshly fallen snow and stuffing it down his shirt. 

Taemin shrieked, face red from laughter as he tried to wiggle free from his brother’s death grip. “You sorry son of a ! That’s cold!”

“Ho-ho! Who are you cursing at, you brat?” Jinki took another handful and held it in his hand. “Who taught you to speak like that, huh?”

Taemin stuck his tongue out. “You did!” 

“I did no such thing!” Jinki said, aghast, as he lowered the hand cradling he snowball.

Taemin took advantage of this, Jinki’s parent first, brother second attitude, and rolled hard until Jinki was under him. He retaliated the moment Jinki’s back hit the ground, scooping up snow and throwing it at his brother’s face. Jinki threw his arms across his face to protect it from the snow and laughed, the sound bouncing off of the abandoned warehouse they were horse playing in front of.

The sound of a gun cocking back stopped Jinki’s laughter immediately.  His eyes flew past Taemin’s shoulder to the looming figure standing behind him. Before Jinki could open his mouth, the man rushed forward, wrapping an arm around Taemin’s neck and hauling him up from the ground. 

Foolishly, Taemin began to struggle, kicking and fighting to get out of the stranger’s grip, but when his forearm tightened around Taemin’s neck and as his face began to turn red, his fighting ceased.

“Give me all your money! Now!” was the command as Jinki stared down the barrel of a small revolver. 

Jinki slowly got to his feet and held up his hands, trying to appear calm even if he was anything but. There was no one else on the street at this time of night. They were too far from the diner to get Kangin, the cook. He was a big guy, all muscles and veins that he shoved in a too small shirt that always had old cars screened across the front. He’d always protected them when anyone had an unkind word for the brothers. But he wasn’t here; nobody was here, nobody who could help. 

“Okay, okay,” Jinki replied, his voice low and careful. “I can do that. Just…stay calm, man. I’ll give you everything that I have.”

“Don’t give him anything!” Taemin screamed, his voice hoarse from the stranger’s grip. “Call the police!”

“Taemin, shut up!  Stop moving,” Jinki yelled.

Jinki reached deep into his pockets and withdrew his wallet. Inside was their rent money, two weeks’ worth of pay stretched passed its limits with overtime and picking up extra jobs around town. He didn’t know what he was going to do once the money was gone. Maybe he could pick up a shift at Ji Young’s, crash at Kibum’s. Sell some of their items; the old television with the orange tape around the knob, his computer …anything. None of it mattered because Jinki would find a way to make it work. The only thing that mattered was this, right here, right now. 

Making small slow movements, he tossed the wallet towards the assailant’s hands. The stranger stumbled for the wallet, missing it as it bounced off the edge of his outstretched fingers. It tumbled to the ground, soundless as it landed on the pile of snow Jinki had scooped together earlier. 

Time slowed, but it didn’t stop. God, he wished time would stop. 

Jinki’s eyes flew to Taemin, watching the tension flow through his brother’s body, watching the energy collect at the balls of his feet like a ripple across a lake. Watched as Taemin shifted forward, trying to break the stranger’s grip. He watched as Taemin tried to take advantage of the stranger’s preoccupation with the wallet to reach for the gun.

It was like he was watching a movie. A terrible, horrible movie.

“Taemin, NO!” 

The gunshot rang louder than the laughter they’d shared. The sound of Taemin’s body hitting the ground was even louder. 

Jinki rushed forward, not moving fast enough to break his fall. He pulled him into his lap. The robber bent forward, scooped up the wallet and took off. Jinki followed his retreat for a few seconds, watching him disappear into the shadows casted by the warehouse. There was a noise from across the street. Jinki heard a door swinging open, footsteps. 

But he could hear his heart breaking the loudest. 

“J–inki?” Taemin asked, the same vulnerability and fear of the unknown shining in his eyes, like Jinki was seventeen and Taemin was eleven again. 

Jinki was speechless. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted it to be ten minutes ago, when they were in the diner, discussing the future, where the future seemed vast, endless and timeless. 

“Jinki. S–say something. I’m cold. I’m so cold.”

That seemed to snap him out of his trance. With trembling hands, he pulled Taemin’s coat closer to his body, ignoring the blood on his hands as he did. “You’re not cold. You’re not cold. You’re just…”

“It’s so warm on the other side, Jinki. I c–can feel it. Like…that beach you always told me we visited once. I–I can’t remember it, I was too young…but you said it was warm and…I want to play in the sand.”

“You will,”’ Jinki said through a sniffle as he tugged his brother closer to him. “You will. In fact, tomorrow, I’m going to pack up the house, I’m going to pack up everything and we’re going straight to Gyeongpo. We’ll race and eat delicious things and then we’ll walk in the water. How does that sound? Wet sand gets in between your toes and its squishy and…”

“That sounds like so much…fun,” Taemin cough as blood bubbled over his lips. His breathing became shallow and harsh sounds like a soul being scoured cleaned escaped between his lips.

“It’s okay. I’m going to go first because I’m so cold and its warm there, Jinki. I can see it. I can see the sand.”

Jinki’s bottom lip began to tremble and the tears rushed down his face, carving hot trails down his cheek. One tear fell and landed on Taemin’s face and Taemin smiled. 

“Please, don’t give up, Taem. Please,” Jinki’s voice broke. He heard someone behind him on the phone, talking to emergency response. He heard directions being given, he heard someone yelling for a doctor. He heard a lot of things. 

Jinki rocked back and forth like he was lulling Taemin to sleep.

“Jinki,” Taemin gasped. “Momma says–“

There was a small exhale of breath. It clouded the air in a whimsical pattern, causing a small flurry in the snowflakes falling through the air. Jinki stared at it for a moment, mesmerized at how the things in this world are connected. Breath, snowflakes, movement. But he knew better. He knew this wasn’t anything magnificent, it wasn’t something to behold, a beauty to experience. 

It was a dying breath. 

It was death.

“Taemin, no,” he said pitifully, broken and shattered. “Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Please?” 

He looked down at his brother and saw that his face was fixed; a smile. And it was with that smile, the one Jinki would do anything to see, anything to have again, that he tipped his head back and wept. 




Five years later…

Nine and a half million people access the Seoul Metropolitan Subway everyday. Not at the same time of course, but anyone caught in the five o’clock rush hour would tell you that, yes, all nine and a half million people were crowded on the exact train at the exact same time. 

Jinki looked down at his watch. 5:22. He’d missed his usual train by seven minutes and somewhere in his head he thought, seven is a lucky number, so many this wasn’t so bad. He had a thing with obsessing about luck. A rabbit’s foot on his keychain, a tattoo of a four leaf clover at the base of his neck, hidden by his hair. The most important was a wishbone necklace on a gold chain around his neck. He believed he needed all the luck he could get. 

He glanced around the terminal. The platform was full of people but not crowded, not as crowded as it usually was. He attributed that the air outside. It was cold, ridiculously cold, the November wind dipping below average and no one would be out without a strict need to be. He hate that he’d missed his train but he didn’t have anywhere to be in particular. Kibum was at the Youth Center, and the kids there were a mix of totally in love with him, or absolutely terrified of him, so either way, he knew not too much trouble would happen while he was away. 

Seven minutes later, his train ground to a halt at the terminal, he boarded with small steps as people flooded the car. That was normal. Most people traveled south, not north, so by the fourth stop, the Orange line would give way to breathing room and the capacity would thin out. Still until they hit that point, he was jammed up against the pole, his hand wrapped around it and the adjacent handle. A hand quickly joined his as the rush of people pushed them further into the car. 
Surprised, because the hand was warm despite the cool fall weather outside, Jinki looked over…and then up to the person he was smushed up against. 

The man looked down apologetically as their legs slid against each other’s and Jinki smiled back, friendly. 

“It’s not your fault,” he mouthed. Silently he tried to make room for the man to slide back out of danger of being pushed over. Finally the doors slid close, preventing anyone else from cramming themselves inside and the train took off. 

There wasn’t much room for talk, so silently the two of them stole glances at each other, maybe out of a perceived familiarity derived from temporarily living in each other’s personal space… or just because they could at such close quarters.

The man was tall, more legs than anything from what he could see. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, slight 5 o’clock shadow covering his cheeks, wide expressive eyes, round plump lips. Jinki didn’t know if he was attracted to him or not, but he was easy on the eyes, especially compared to the man to his left, who looked like he hadn’t combed his hair in days. 

The fourth stop rolled around and as predicted most of the passengers filed out as they hit the Gangnam-gu station. At the next stop, more got off until the car was empty. Now the slow ride from Seoul to Goyang-si could be had with room to breathe.

Jinki took a seat, surprised when he found the stranger from before sitting across from him.

“You live up this way?” Jinki asked. He regretted it instantly because the stranger tilted his head, confused. Slowly, he reached up to his ear and pulled out an earbud.

“What was that?”

Clearing his throat, Jinki tried again. “I said, do you live up this way?”

The stranger smiled. “Illsan,” he said and that caused Jinki brow to rise. 

“Wow. That’s crazy. I live in Illsan, too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Jinki’s brow rose higher.

“I guess you don’t remember me. I’m Jonghyun’s friend. From the fundraiser in April? We both work for AMIGO Construction.”

Jinki searched around his memory, pulling out useless ones, like the time he’d spilled a drink on one of Jonghyun’s coworkers or the time he’d followed one back to his home for a regrettable one night stand. Luckily, as his memory aligned, it wasn’t this guy. Finally recognizing him, he snapped his fingers.

“You mentioned a son, I remember. Yoogeun ? You’re the one who kept grabbing the microphone from Jonghyun.”

“That’s the one,” he said warmly. “I don’t know whose bright idea it was to give the drunkest man in the room the floor but one day I’ll find them and make them pay.”  The stranger, well not so much of a stranger anymore, stood and walked across the car. He stood in front of Jinki and held his hand out. “Choi Minho…just in case you don’t remember.”

“I guess you already know then. Lee Jinki.” 

Jinki reached his hand out to shake Minho’s hand when a horrible screeching noise of metal grinding on metal sliced through the air. 

Jinki looked up towards the front of their car. They’d just pass through a tunnel and all around them was dark. “What in the–“

The next moments were a blur. The screeching noise intensified and on instinct Jinki wrapped his hand around Minho’s coat and tugged him into the subway seat, his body colliding with Jinki’s, his shoulder digging into his chest. The subway lurched and  Jinki felt weightless for a moment, like he was floating, his feet off the ground and his hair floating in the current of ethereality before gravity and momentum took over and he felt himself flying forward. The lights inside the subway car went out. So did his. 




When he came to, he didn’t know if it been a minute or ten days. He reached up and grabbed his head. When he pulled away, there was blood. Not enough for him to panic but enough to feel the dull thud of a headache.  He felt heavy, a total opposite of the weightlessness he’d felt before he’d passed out. Groaning, he tried to sit up but when he did he banged his head on something hard and metal. Jinki couldn’t really see what it was with the lights sparking above him. 

He twisted in his spot and maneuvered his hand behind him to reach in his back pocket, where his cell phone was. Luckily it survived, and despite the huge crack across the screen, it still lit up when he pressed the side button. He fumbled through his apps until he found the flashlight. Pressing the button, he watched the space around him light up. He them promptly choked on his spit.

The subway car looked like something hellbent on destruction had swept through in the blink of an eye. Glass was everywhere. A few of the metal poles had come loose from the ceiling, one completely, and was lodged under a row of seats. The opposite side of where they sat was bent and caved in. Sparks outside the subway car flew and Jinki prayed nothing would catch on fire. 

With a grunt, Jinki was able to push the metal bar hanging over his head away. He looked towards the front of the subway car and saw darkness. He noticed that they were at an odd angle. 

Had the car come off the tracks? Jinki didn’t know and he didn’t have the energy try and figure it out. He just wanted someone to come and get him out of this crumpled death can. Suddenly, he remembered that he hadn’t been the only one in this car. The thought hit him like a hammer. 

He swung his head, hard, ignoring the pain as he looked around. “Minho?” 

There was a groan and Jinki followed the sound like it was a lifeline. Standing on wobbly legs, he braced himself against the pull of gravity the angled train caused. He was able to climb over a hunk of twisted metal but had to shimmy a few feet to through a section of the car that was caved inward. Wedged between a overturned set of broken seats and the floor was Choi Minho. 

Jinki twisted a bit and into the space. He brought his phone up, letting the light wash over everything, and he winced. Minho looked bad. His face was twisted in pain and the front of long-john shirt was wet with blood. 

“Minho, can you hear me?” 

He nodded and Jinki flew into action, all of the first aid classes he’d ever taken flying to his brain. 

“You’re bleeding okay. So I’m going to stop that. Is there anything else that hurts?”

Minho nodded, his eyes clenching shut. “My ankle. It’s stuck. I think…I think I broke it.” 

That would have to wait. He moved quickly, peeling off Minho’s coat as gently as possible and laying it his legs. He then lifted his shirt and found the cause of the blood. It looked worse than it was. Once he’d wiped away the blood, there a nothing but a small gash below his collar bone. 

An announcement rang out inside the tunnel. 

Minho winced as he tried to sit up, hissing when his leg refused to move. “What are they saying.”

“A crash and a derailment. Our car is off the tracks and crunched in between the tunnel walls.” Jinki scoffed. So much for good luck. “It’s going to take them a minute to get to us. Do you think you can hold on until then?”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere.” Minho managed a small chuckle. Smiling suited the man, Jinki realized as a passing observation. Or it could have been anything suited this man even as he followed it up with a pained grimace.


“I’ve got some water in my bag. I don’t think it’s going to take days to get us out but I want to conserve it. However, you’re more than welcome to have some.”

Minho nodded and Jinki reached under the seat to where he’d last seen his bag. He fumbled through it until he found what he was looking for. “Oh, I’ve got a little bit of aspirin. Is that something you can take?”

Minho winced. “I don’t particularly like it, but anything will do.” 

Jinki tore the small travel packet open and dropped them in Minho’s hand. 

“Thank you,” Minho said quietly. 

In the minutes that passed, Jinki did he best to keep Minho comfortable and warm. He sacrificed his own jacket, tucking Minho in up to his neck. He kept Minho’s jacket around his legs. He tried not once, but twice, to ease Minho’s ankle loose but it was good and stuck between a bent metal pole wedged under the base of the broken chair. It was twisted as such an odd angle, Jinki was wondering how the man wasn’t screaming in pain. Yet, if the pain wasn’t being heard vocally, it was definitely on his face.

Jinki decided, in the lull while being rescued to try again. He shimmied his way to where Minho’s ankle was stuck and observed it. Bringing his phone with him, he angled the light towards it. His eyes narrowed as he spotted something new. 

Blood?

Damn it. 

“Minho. I think you may have cut your ankle or something. Your sock is drenched. I have to…” Jinki paused and looked again. No…it wasn’t his ankle. His entire pant leg was soaked through, blood pooling on the floor beneath him. Jinki panicked. He slid back up to Minho, who face was snuggled in the layers of the jacket. Frightened, Jinki pulled the coat away from his face to find Minho eye’s fluttering into the back of his head.

“Minho. Minho!” He reached out and slapped him, urging him to snap out of it. Was he going into shock? Jinki slapped him again and Minho’s eyes rolled forward. He blinked slowly and Jinki released the breath he was holding.

“Jesus,” he breathed. He moved forward so he could look into Minho’s eyes.

“I need you to stay with me okay? You’re bleeding really bad and–“ Jinki paused mid-statement as Minho’s eyes began to roll towards the back of his head again. Blindly, Jinki reached for Minho’s hand. “Stay with me, Minho!”

His eyes rolled back forward again, except for this time, they were lucid and unblinking. Minho’s eyes widen and Jinki felt his panic surmounting, an unfamiliar fear filling his chest. Minho’s hand squeezed his, hard, and Jinki watched as tears filled his eyes. Jinki wanted to pull his hand away, he wants to do anything to ease the feeling in his chest as if Minho was looking into his soul. 

It was so cold. 

Minho’s lips parted and Jinki’s gaze shift towards them.

“Taemin says it’s going to be alright.”




Minho had always liked sports. It had been his thing. Everybody in his family had their thing.  His father was an accountant, his mother, a librarian. His older brother liked cars so he became a mechanic. Minho had dreams of sports. A soccer ball between his legs, yes, or a basketball in his hands, absolutely. 

When he was fifteen, a man moved into their neighborhood. No wife, no kids, just him and his hockey sticks. When he’d pulled up for the first time, the logo of a polar bear in a black triangle blazed across his back window was the thing that caught the neighborhood kid’s attention. 

Was he a famous hockey player? Did he play for the Anyang Halla’s? Were any of the players going to visit him? 

Turned out the answers to all of their questions was no, he was just a big fan, however because of that he knew the game in and out and was an excellent teacher. It didn’t take long for his love to spread to the neighborhood kids and soon everyone was taking up the game. 

Naturally, as the cosmos would allow, Minho was the best at it and the thought of gliding across the pitch, eyeing the goal line and scoring filled his brain every waking hour. Soon, winter was his favorite season and after school, he and his friends would rush to the ice arena in town for a game. Every day, that’s how they spent their afternoons. One day, the excited group of teenagers pulled up to the arena to find it closed. The attendant said something about the thermostat being broke and they were unable to prepare the rink for skaters. 

It had been Donghae’s idea to go to the lake. 

Using two cardboard boxes they’d found along the way and Shindong’s puck, they set up their impromptu pitch and soon a game was underway. 

Minho was having difficulty with this game. The ice on lake felt differently and it was hard for him to find his groove. Siwon commented on it, saying that Minho looked like Bambi on ice. Which in hindsight, Minho realized was a very powerful motivation tool.  It didn’t make Minho to find his groove but it did allow him create a new one and soon he was speeding across the ice, checking the boys on the opposing side, easily stealing the puck as they fell over.  He broke away from everyone, racing to the opposite side of the pitch, his eye on the goal line. He skid to a stop, aimed and swung his stick back. 

Crack. 

Minho froze, his eyes darting back and forth as cracks out beneath him. He heard the sound of the others behind him, the sliding of their skates across the ice. 

He held his hand up. “No! Stop! Don’t come any closer!” 

Hyukjae reached him first, him gummy smile withering as he noticed why Minho hadn’t scored. “But–but, Minho. The ice! That’s dangerous!” 

If Minho hadn’t been so scared, he would have rolled his eyes. “It’s fine Hyukjae. If I don’t move, I’m fine.” He looked around down, trying to believe his words. He inhaled and ice splintered more on its own. “Just…just hurry up and go! Get off the ice.”

Siwon scoffed as he skated closer. “I’m not leaving you out here.” 

“That doesn’t make sense! Stop yapping your jaw.” 

Siwon pulled everyone back a few feet from the fractured ice before directing them to solid ground, but he didn’t leave. “I understand that it doesn’t make sense but that ice isn’t going to last long.” Siwon slowly lowered himself to the ice floor. “I’m going to use my stick and pull you to me."

Minho’s eyes jutted back and forth as he thought about Siwon’s plan. “Okay. That…that makes more sense. I’m going to turn around and–“

Crack.

Minho had never felt anything so cold in his life. It hurt so badly, every part of him, shocked by the blind pain of the frozen over water. His chest burned as he struggled to hold his breath. He couldn’t take it, so he tried, he tried so very hard to get back to the surface, to where it would be warm, warmer than this, but his fingers, his hands, his arms, they wouldn’t work. They couldn’t move. 

Yet, nothing hurt worse than the first icy inhale of water.

Minho woke up a week later in the hospital. They told him how Siwon had pulled him out of the water, gave him CPR, kept him warm until the paramedics arrived. Because of that Siwon was the first friend allowed in the room after the doctors examined him. 

“You had us scared, you idiot!” he shouted as he slid into the room, a big gigantic smile on his face. He raced across the room; his arms open as he approached the bed, and enveloped Minho in a big hug.

The moment it happened, Minho felt something inside of him snap. His eyes went wide, his body got stiff, his breath froze in his chest. His brain mellowed out for a moment before it sharpened and his vision shifted.

He was staring at a bedroom, one he recognized because he’d spent so much time there. It was Siwon’s. He could tell because there was a gigantic Shinhwa poster above his bed. Siwon was the only one brave enough amongst all of them to outwardly show his love for the group. He’d gotten it a month ago and never failed to let his friends know it was proudly still up every time they hung out.

The door to Siwon’s bedroom swung opened and another familiar face appeared. Siwon’s aunt. The one who took care of him after Siwon’s mother died. Minho felt his body go cold again. 

Siwon’s aunt was dead. For two years, she’d been dead. 

She walked up to him, looking just as youthful as she did before she died. She squatted in front of him and Minho stared at the scar on her cheek. They’d told him that she’d gotten it when she was a dancer. She’d fallen and cut herself. It wasn’t until after her death that Minho found out it was one of the many scars Siwon’s step-uncle had caused. Many still suspected him for her death.

She put her hand on Minho’s shoulder and Minho flinched. 

Not seeming offended by Minho’s fear, she touched her face, running her finger along her scar. “It didn’t hurt, you know. He hit me and the next thing you know, I’m on the ground. I didn’t even feel it.”

Minho drew back. “Why–why are you here?”

She giggled. “Minho, I’ve always been here. You’re just the first person who has seen me in two years. I thought Siwon had once. He stared right at me. I was mistaken, though, he didn’t and I was so sad. But you? You can see me.”

“I don’t want to see you.” He shook his head hard. “ I don’t.”

Siwon’s aunt hummed. “I’m sorry, love but…there’s nothing you can do about it. Consider it a gift. I ‘ve seen others like you but you are the first for me.” She tapped him on his nose. “It’s because you’re special.”

“I–I’m not. I’m not special.”

“Of course you are. Can you do me a favor, Minho?”

“No! I don’t want to!” Minho squeezed his eyes shut. He was scared, he was so scared and he couldn’t stop his body from shaking. She reached for him and he could feel the cold emanating from her body.

“The garden and an arbor of green. Under the stars is a gift.” Siwon’s aunt looked away. “Tell him I miss him and that he’s grown up to be such a fine young man.”

The vision cleared and suddenly he was back in his hospital room. Minho, still so very frightened, began screaming. He screamed and thrashed around in the bed, yelling about ghost and visions. The doctors raced into the room and soon Minho was strapped down to the bed and a vial of sedatives pumped into this IV.

He spent the next few weeks in the psych ward, trying to explain to doctors what he’d seen. No one believed him. Not even as he explained what she looked like and what she was wearing. Minho’s mother produced a picture. It was the one on their mantle. She looked exactly as Minho had described her, down the dress she wore. The doctors called it a “false memory.” 

It wasn’t a false memory. He knew what he saw. Stupid doctors.

They began him on a regiment of anti-psychotic drugs, ones that made him slow, disconnected and lethargic.  It never stopped his blabbering about Siwon’s aunt.
On the third week, Minho became wise to what he had to do to get out of the ward. 

No, I don’t see visions. No, I don’t see ghost. No, I don’t see dead people.

It became a mantra. And they believed him.

The day he was discharged from the hospital, Siwon came to visit. He didn’t look as haunted as Minho’s mother or defeated as Minho’s father. He looked concerned. Minho appreciated that concern. It was like an oasis in a desert, a sweet kiss of water in a land of dry disparaging words on how crazy he was. 

Siwon helped him collect his clothes, pack his bag and gather all of the cards that had been sent to him from school. His parents were downstairs waiting for him, Siwon said, and Minho smiled, finally relaxed for the first time in weeks. 

The words rushed past his lips before he could stop them. 

“Your aunt said ‘The garden and an arbor of green. Under the stars is a gift.”

Siwon paused by the door and the silence stretched out before them, so quiet that Minho could hear each tick of the clock, the breath rushing in and out of Siwon’s lungs. Eventually, Siwon opened the door, a smile on his face. It was withered and lifeless.

“C’mon, Minho. Your parents will kill me if we don’t hurry up,” he said quietly.

Minho learned later, through a mutual friend of theirs, because Siwon wouldn’t speak to him anymore, that in the garden behind Siwon’s house was a vine covered arbor that had been built by Siwon’s step uncle.  Buried under a rock in the shape of a star was a box with Siwon’s name carved on it. Inside, he discovered was a tightly sealed container filled with a baseball collection, all mint condition. There was also a note.

Siwon,
Sell th     ese. Take the m       oney. L I V E.
Al        so.
G   et out              of th     e house.
N o w . 

That was the last time anyone saw Siwon in town. 

A week later, the house burned to the ground, killing Siwon’s step-uncle.