With him, love was like a song.

It was cheesy. Melodic. The rhythm soothed Jinyoung’s sturdy heart as it was promising him a little bit of everything as days passed. Sometimes it was loud and he found himself danced through the song, but some other times it was soft and warm like classical musics he liked to play at the night of cold winter.

First love, with him was colorful. It painted Jinyoung’s world, introduced him to beautiful blends of various shades that makes a new color he had never seen before. It acquainted him with magenta, amaranth, coquelicot, scarlet, and various shades of reds. And sometimes blue. But mostly red.

Jinyoung liked songs. Jinyoung liked colors.

But Jinyoung talked about him in past tenses. One time to his mother, the other times to Mark. But mostly, to Mark.

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“You know what, there are two types of people in this world. The people who loves from 100% and decreases to 0%, and people who loves from 0% but then increases to 100%. So, which one are you, Mark?”

Jinyoung likes to ask about silly questions. Sometimes about spaces and constellations, about kingdoms and wars, about God, about life, about death, about love. Sometimes they required answers, but most of the time Mark would just shrug and Jinyoung wouldn’t mind it. Mark loves how his clear black orbs reflects the sunshine as he squinted his doe eyes, how it has power to turn Mark’s center of gravitation to them and them only. As the June sun shines above them and let Jinyoung’s skin glows under it, Mark shrugs to answer his question this time too.

“I demand an answer this time, Mark.” He said, faking a sulky face. Adorable is an understatement to describe it as Mark smiles when he sensed an innocent curiousity from the younger men, who sits next to him on a bench, at the park where Jinyoung likes to sit and type his stories.

Mark likes it when Jinyoung calls his name.

“Is there anyone who loves 100% and stays the same?”

Now Jinyoung shrugs, “No?” he answered as if he isn’t sure himself.

“Why?”

Jinyoung furrows his eyebrows, thinking. “That’s just what people do, Mark. They change. Be it themselves, or things around them.”

“I want to be someone who stays the same.”

Jinyoung’s eyes studied Mark’s, as if trying to find any inside jokes that maybe he can reply with bad jokes later. “You cannot.”

“I can try.”

Jinyoung shakes his head, “You will get hurt.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Believe me, Mark. I know.” The light in those eyes dims, Jinyoung turns his gaze to the brownish grass under his shoes. Mark wants to caress those soft and fluffy black hair that covers his forehead and reach the upper  frame of his glasses. Mark wants to say that Jinyoung is wrong but then he would ask for evidences and he has none.

Mark wishes he can proof that there is someone who can love the same for eternity. Mark wishes that someone is him.

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“I don’t know why people thanked me for the happy endings in my novels. I was lying. There is no happy ending in this life, why do they believe in those ty things I wrote, whereas I myself made it up to keep me from killing myself.”

Mark stuffs kimchi into his mouth as he listens to Jinyoung reading emails from his readers. Jinyoung’s rice hasn’t been touched since it’s arrived, he is more interested in complaining about things people wrote back to him—sometimes even earning looks from the waiter who walks pass them.

“Maybe it keeps them from killing themselves too.”

Jinyoung laughed, not a happy laugh, but a laugh that indicates about how he doesn’t believe in what Mark said.

“Those things are ty, Mark, they had even became another reason for me to choke myself to death.”

Mark still loves it when Jinyoung says his name. Even when he’s talking about bad things.

“Maybe it helps them restore faith in humanity.”

Jinyoung tsk-ed, “Funny that the writer himself doesn’t have any ing faith left.”

Sometimes Jinyoung sees the world as a dangerous place, with no love, no kindness, with a bad ending. Quite the contrary of what he writes for his novels; love, rainbows, butterflies, and happy endings. He claimed that it made him seems like a good person; a person whose life is great. He likes it when people sees him as a happy person, he likes to laugh and joke in the launching events of his novels or the gatherings of fellow authors and readers.

Mark wouldn’t say that Jinyoung is a negative person, because Mark knows he had been hurt before and he had built walls around him to keep his wounded heart from anyone who comes near it. Jinyoung isn’t fond of pain because who is? Jinyoung is just someone who doesn’t want to be hurt twice.

But he cannot protect himself from pain and sadness without also protecting himself from happiness.

Mark wants Jinyoung to know that he’s wrong. That world is not as corrupted as what he thinks. Mark wants Jinyoung to stop protecting himself from happiness too; Mark doesn’t like to know that Jinyoung is suffering from any slightest pain possible.

“I hate it when my heart hurts like this, you know. I don’t know why is it hurting but it just cannot stop. I hate it so much I feel like slicing my wrist with this knife.”

Jinyoung often says that he’s hurt. He’s hurt. And he’s hurt. But Mark doesn’t want him to hurt, but Mark always keep silent.

“Please stop describing ways to kill yourself.” Instead, he said.

Mark wants Jinyoung to be okay. And happy.

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“Jaebum...”

Three years living in the same apartment as Jinyoung makes Mark aware that Jinyoung easily gets sick. He doesnt’ like cold nights and he loathes winter. Jinyoung’s temperature can go up to 40 degree celcius if he catch a bad fever, but if there’s anything in this world he hates the same amount as winter, it’s a trip to hospital.

And this time, after years Mark hasn’t heard that name, Jinyoung called it again. Jinyoung was in and out of consciousness so probably he doesn’t aware of who he’s calling.

That name, maybe it hurts Mark the same amount as it hurts Jinyoung. Only in different ways.

Jinyoung called that name in his unconscious state only means that it has no less meaning for him that it was before. Jinyoung is still trembling from cold, and that one slip of name is never heard again.

Mark lays a damp cloth on Jinyoung’s forehead, hoping it could calm his fever down. His clothes is drenched in cold sweat and a single tear manages to slip from his tightly shut eyes.

Those pale cheek feels warm against Mark’s cold palm as he cupped it gently. Probably feeling the cold, Jinyoung cracked his eyes open only to meet Mark’s tender gaze. Jinyoung breathes from his mouth, and every struggling inhale and exhale makes Mark dies a little inside.

“M-Mark?”

Mark nodded. It’s me. It’s me. Say my name. It’s Mark. I’m always here.

“It’s cold and I’m exhausted.”

Mark smiles as he holds the urge to kiss those heavy lids, he caresses Jinyoung’s damp hair instead, and says, “Do you mind if I warm you?”

Jinyoung hummed and closes his eyes again, “p-please.”

Mark slips himself under the heavy blanket covering Jinyoung’s body and arranges it to wrap Jinyoung nice and warm. Mark slides his one hand under Jinyoung’s neck, and wrap the other around his head loose enough no