Spring came, and the foliage became their greenest; flowers bloomed back to life as though winter never happened.

Spring came, and Jiwon finally got the timing right when he played TAKE’s One Spring Day on his phone.

Spring came, and Junhoe was breathing; plans of flying flushed to the toilet. Junhoe thought he finally knew how it felt to be alive.

Junhoe’s eyes no longer filtered the dark colors, he now saw the good side of things, and when he didn’t, he tried until he did, and when even that failed, he just looked at Jiwon and waited for his colors to spread onto the grays.

For the first time, Junhoe wasn’t holding his mother’s hand as he walked a street lined with cherry blossom trees in bloom.

Junhoe and his mother never once talked about people leaving after that one time, or anything else, really. The amount of questions sprouted at him made a turn for the less, and soon enough, they came to the point where his mother stopped asking possessive questions like “Where are you going?” or “What time will you be coming back?”

“I’ll come home,” Junhoe reassured his mother, and fortunately, that sounded enough to ease her down.

Today, Junhoe’s hand in Jiwon’s felt a little warmer, and Junhoe felt giddy, eyes glued to the trees. Junhoe wished he could see the world through Jiwon’s eyes, and he wondered if Jiwon even saw the color black.

Jiwon had a smile plastered on his face. He seemed happy, but then again, he always did, and Junhoe felt like Jiwon didn’t get his share of problems, but that was just a thought.

Jiwon tugged at Junhoe’s clammy hand, “I want you to meet my sister.”

Junhoe felt alive again (even more so), his heart racing nervously through his chest. He nodded and they began walking the way they’ve come.

Junhoe knew that Jiwon’s sister was sick. Jiwon had once talked about budgeting and paying for his sister’s medical bills. Junhoe strayed away from that thought, aiming to look at the positives, so he let his mind sit on trivial things, wondering if Jiwon’s sister smiled as often as Jiwon did, or if she also had bunny teeth. Did they have the same mannerisms when they talked? Would she also look away when she’s nervous? What was it like growing up with Jiwon?

Junhoe had a lot of questions.

Usually, people brought fruits or a bouquet of flowers when visiting the sick, but Jiwon didn’t have the money for that, and so they just walked the familiar white halls of the hospital across the mini-mart.

Junhoe tugged at his black cap, then reached out to hold Jiwon’s arm as they passed by people in white uniforms, some of them giving a small nod. Junhoe had always had bad memories of hospitals ever since his grandmother died of a heart failure in one.

Junhoe remembered walking with his mother, a fruit basket in hand when they visited. Junhoe shuddered, trying to hide from the memory and pushed himself closer to Jiwon as they reached the northern wing of the building, where Jiwon’s sister was confined.

The white halls were making Junhoe dizzy like they always did, and he was relieved when they both entered the first room from the stairs.

Jiwon’s entrance was rather loud, not like the way Junhoe and his mother had entered his grandmother’s room, and Junhoe clasped the guy’s arm in warning.

“Hey sis,” Jiwon walked over to the bed, where his sister was sleeping peacefully, body hooked to an IV and other seemingly familiar tubes. She looked just a little older than Jiwon. She had sparse eyebrows and lashes, a button nose above her thin lips of pale pink. Even with her eyes closed, Junhoe thought she was pretty.

“This is Junhoe, the one I keep telling you about.” He said, motioning to Junhoe as he sat down on the chair near his sister’s bed.

“You’ll wake her up,” Junhoe said in a shushed tone.

“I hope I would,” Jiwon said sadly, and he reached out to pat his sister’s hair.

Junhoe’s grip on Jiwon’s arm loosened when he realized just what Jiwon meant by that.

“Brain dead.” Jiwon offered an explanation, voice empty, face blank. Just two words and Jiwon said it all.

Junhoe didn’t say anything, and he wouldn’t know what to say even if he tried to. He felt cold at the tips of his fingers.

“They say that there’s almost no chance of her waking up again. I didn’t believe them, you know?” Jiwon breathed a laugh and ran a frustrated hand through his greasy hair.

“Two years ago, she lifted her fingers, her eyes rolled under her lids, showed signs of life. Who am I to give up when I know my sister is fighting?

“Was. I meant was, Jun.” Jiwon looked at him in that moment, and Junhoe actually wished he didn’t. He wished he didn’t feel his pain—No, he wished there was no pain to begin with.

It was surreal, uncovering that thin blanket over Jiwon’s sad truth. Junhoe was wrong when he thought that Jiwon led a happy life. This was it. Here laid Jiwon’s grays. He hid them in this room.

“That was the last time we saw an improvement, if I could even call it that. I don’t even know any more if she’s still here! It’s not easy. There are a lot of reasons to give up, but I always look at the reasons why I shouldn’t. But sometimes I want to let her go.” Jiwon looked down on the floor as a tear rolled down his left cheek. It was as if it was his first time saying that aloud, and he felt guilt.

“And make this easier for the both of us.” It was just a whisper, but even then, Junhoe heard the crack in his voice.

Junhoe hurried closer and cradled Jiwon’s head against his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” his whisper sounded so hypocritical when months ago, he himself had wanted to give up on life. He still did, sometimes, when he thought of tomorrow and what it would bring, or what it wouldn’t.

Jiwon put an arm around Junhoe and held him close, he shook his head and told Junhoe in that same hushed tone: “You don’t know that, Junhoe.”

Jiwon let Junhoe into his ‘crappy flat’ (Jiwon’s words) located in the fourth floor of a ‘crappy building’ (again, Jiwon’s words) not far from the mini-mart he works in.

Junhoe only smiled at this, he knew Jiwon letting him in meant more things than one.

Jiwon was living alone, his parents dead and gone. His aunt, who was his adoptive mother, helped him with the bills from time to time.

Jiwon spent part of his time working, the other times with Junhoe, while the free times away from both were spent on looking for other part-time jobs.

His walls were a plain white, like the walls in the hospital. His living room served as his bedroom as well. It housed a small TV in front of the coffee table that he probably put away whenever it was time to sleep.

He asked Junhoe to sit on the floor, giving him the only bean bag he had, and apologizing for it. He then headed over to the “kitchen”, which was just separated from the living room with a divider, to make Junhoe a cup of instant coffee and prepare the water for some ramen noodles. It was not much, he knew, but Junhoe thanked him anyway when he placed the cup of coffee in front of him.

“Don’t you have plans of going back to school?” Junhoe asked as he took a sip of the hot drink. It just randomly popped up in his head. Jiwon was at that age to be in university—majoring in Music, perhaps? Or Business? But because of his circumstances, he couldn’t go. They both knew he couldn’t live off part time jobs forever.

“I could ask you the same question.” Junhoe had never considered the possibility of going to school, now that he thought about it. This is what Jiwon did to him. He opened his eyes to a lot of things. And he hated it at times, that night in particular.

Junhoe just shrugged, and felt the hot liquid flow down his system. It left a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Their questions remained unanswered, and he wanted to spill everything out when he looked into Jiwon’s brown eyes.

He wanted to tell him everything, so he opened his mouth to speak but he was silenced by Jiwon pulling his head close, and a kiss: both knowing and a little needy.

It felt bitter, and Junhoe knew deep down that it wasn’t the coffee. Junhoe pushed Jiwon away, and the latter looked at him worriedly.

“You were cooking.” Junhoe couldn’t meet Jiwon’s gaze as he stood up. Jiwon didn’t know how to react. Something was off, he just couldn’t tell what.

He followed after Junhoe and held his wrist firmly. “Where are you going?”

Junhoe just walked on, aiming for the door and simultaneously trying to break his arm free of Jiwon’s grip to no avail.

“Are you going home?”

“No!” Junhoe spat, and it was his most riled up that Jiwon had seen of him yet. Jiwon took a tentative step back and promptly let go of Junhoe’s hand. When Junhoe had realized what he had done, he breathed a sigh and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I just—“ He began, feeling overcome with feelings he shouldn’t be feeling. “I just need to get some fresh air.”

“Okay,” Jiwon replied, and when Junhoe looked up at him—he hated to do so—he saw that the look on Jiwon’s face was soft, but he clenched his teeth, anyway.

Junhoe nodded, and went on his way out the door. He could feel Jiwon’s eyes on him.

“I’ll be right here when you need me.”

You’re always here.

The chilly breeze against Junhoe’s cheeks felt like an alarm bell. It was a jerk move to push away Jiwon like he just did. All Jiwon did was be there for him, but Junhoe knew in himself that he wasn’t good enough for that. Once again, he was hit by the million thoughts swimming in his head.

All Jiwon did was be there for him. Jiwon was Junhoe’s carpet ride. He literally opened his eyes to a new world, a place where he didn’t just want to die. In that world, he wanted to breathe, wanted to listen to Jiwon’s favorite songs. In that world, Junhoe wanted to hold Jiwon, look him in the eye, and tell him those three words. But Junhoe knew he would never do that. It was stupid. And he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that fairy tells do happen.

So much had changed. If Junhoe was met with the same balcony all those months ago, he would only think of jumping. That thought hadn’t left his mind completely but it was different now. Now, he also considered the possibility that he wouldn’t die from a fourth floor fall. Now, he couldn’t die that way knowing someone that wasn’t his mother waited for him inside.

A single tear unknowingly trickled down Junhoe’s cheek, and Jiwon was suddenly there to wipe it away. He left his hand against Junhoe’s face, left it to warm the skin.

“You know you could tell me what’s wrong.”

Junhoe shook his head and smiled. “It’s just the wind.”

“I wish you’re not lying.”

“What are you even talking about,” Junhoe said and punched Jiwon lightly on the arm. “Is the ramen done?”

Junhoe wanted to heal Jiwon, be a tower of comfort as Jiwon’s scars and secrets unfolded on bare skin.

But Junhoe knew he couldn’t, because he couldn’t even heal himself, and he was too weak, too incapable.

Jiwon rested his head on Junhoe’s chest as they moved according to their heartbeats.

Junhoe gripped Jiwon’s shoulders, buried his fingernails in his skin. His heart beat wildly in his chest and he loved the sound of it, as well as Jiwon’s panting.

He cried tears though, tears of self-pity, because Jiwon was too beautiful for someone as ugly as him. He was a dark shadow casted on Jiwon and he needed to go, because Jiwon didn’t need any more darkness in his life. Jiwon had to shine as bright as he could; he needed to.

But Junhoe let himself go as Jiwon pumped him up, and they both found their release, moments later.

Junhoe let himself drown in Jiwon’s kisses, Jiwon’s warmth, Jiwon’s love even if he didn’t deserve it. He let himself live more tonight. Tomorrow, he’d die anyway.<