He still remembered the day in his heart. He could see the fluorescent lights playing out in his memory. The scent of cologne was stagnant in the air as the windows were hemmed in from the blame boiling in his stomach. The bitterness lingered, teasing his desire out, inch by inch.

He did not say a word till it was all over, although his definition of ‘over’ was loose to say the least. Some part of him hoped for some prospect of reconciliation but when his voicemail went unanswered, he knew there was nothing left for him to say. Yet, he could not help himself. His screen lighted itself up with the incessant red beeping as he snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray. It was extinguished, but it had more than half a stick left. Just like their love, the cigarette suffered a premature death – It burned bright and hot, till it faded with ashes as its remnants.

Yunho yah, I miss you.

He sighed. It was too late for regrets. He got up and left.

**

He never did wonder what he was doing on this special date. He did not even take notice of it but separation had its own voice and although he was not one to celebrate love on this particular day, an ill-timed reminder from Junsu quickly corrected that notion.

“Are you really not making any plans?”

Junsu had questioned him with his eyes filled with empathy and unshed tears, almost as if Junsu had swallowed his misery and was bearing that heavy burden for him. From the corner of his eyes, Yoochun stared at him with his gaze unrelenting, accusations acting as bullets firing into his chest, making it ache with a bitter pang of loss. He closed his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, “Make plans for me then. Wasn’t that your intention all along?”

He could hear Junsu’s anxious apologies from a distance but he shrugged them away. It is fine, he told Junsu, he appreciated Junsu’s concern and he knew Junsu had good intentions. He smiled and even ruffled Junsu’s hair affectionately, but Junsu continued rambling on. Yoochun stepped forward.

He is scared for you. We all are.

He felt his shoulder squeezed lightly in encouragement. He wanted to burst out laughing. It was all so comedic to him, but he did not wish to worry them more so he patted Yoochun’s back and pulled him to the door.

You do not have to worry. It could not get worse than this.

**

It could get worse than that. That was the sudden epiphany that he came to as his date (courtesy of Junsu) sloppily slurped his noodles up and sprinkled him with the tonkatsu ramen he ordered. Once again, apologies flooded his ears and one word was spilled over the other as his date struggled to transmit his remorse across to him. He could not hold in his laughter this time and let out a slight chuckle, passing a napkin over to his date. To think he had tried really hard to like him and even engaged in frivolous conversation to make this date work! The audacity of his actions! His mouth erupted in hysterical giggles. He should have known that Fate had a mind of its own; it had clearly demonstrated that its duty was to deny him any happiness at all. In fact, it was really no surprise to him, he concluded, that he failed before he even started the race.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, not just out of politeness but for the revelation that this date had given to him.

It was time to end this charade.

Raising his hand, he caught the attention of the waiters, paid for the bill and left with his date still glued to the chair.

Happiness was not an option for him.

**

He had his first psychotic break on a Monday.

“I hate you!”

He hollered at the walls in a rage that suddenly befallen him. They were too white, too empty, and too noisy. If he listened carefully, he could almost hear their whispers. Their mouths and tongues wagging as they whistled to him in a flirtatious tune like an infinite commotion that loops in his brain. He could not even hear his thoughts anymore. It was all so confusing - the whiteness was acting as a familiar presence to him. Then, he remembered. He first saw this whiteness in the sharp fangs of a Bengal tiger that appeared on a television program one night. He could not remember when he watched it or what the program was about but he remembered the deer’s terrified eyes as it witnessed the tiger’s drooping saliva - the last sight the deer saw before the tiger’s jaws extended fully and it leaped into the air, gulping its prey in one swallow.

Was he still dreaming? If he imagined hard enough, he could almost see his skin shifting into fur, orange hairs sprouting in all forms of directions as his jaws widened and his fangs dropped, ready to pounce and attack… but of what? He tilted the shot glass in his hands as the fur returned to hairy flesh. He must be drunker than he thought. Smirking, he gulped the alcohol in a single shot. Beside him, the tiger gnashed its teeth, waiting for its next prey.

**

It took much convincing from his family, Yoochun and Junsu included, before he agreed to see a psychiatrist. He remembered stepping into the doctor’s office, heart pounding like African drums in his ears as he beheld the man before him. Then, before the psychiatrist could say a word, he spoke.

“Can I make a request?” he asked.

The psychiatrist nodded with a genial smile. Go ahead, his sparkling eyes seemed to suggest, speak your mind freely.

“Can you paint your walls in a different colour?”

If the psychiatrist was surprised by his odd request, he did not show it. Instead, the friendly doctor gave out a smile and simply commented, “Of course,” before inviting him to take a seat in the black swivel chair beside him.

In a mere minute, the awkwardness was cleared, and the psychiatrist began to speak.

**

The issue of white walls was not brought up again until it came to the last appointment he had before his army enlistment. At this point, they were familiar with each other and he even told the doctor to refer him by name, a privilege he only offered to those who were close to him.

“Jaejoong,” the psychiatrist began carefully, “Do you remember the original colour my office walls were painted in?”

He nodded but he turned his eyes beyond the doctor, his mouth moving of his own accord before the doctor could continue his line of questioning.

“I don’t like white walls. They talk too loudly to me.”

“What are they saying?”

He looked up hesitantly. His doctor-turned-friend gazed at him imploringly with his hands clasped in a silent prayer, “What is it?”

He shook his head, bangs falling over his eyes as he retreated to the comforts of the black chair, dismissing the doctor’s inquisition. The doctor waited, but no answer came forth from his lips. Then, in a sudden burst of motion, he leapt out of his chair and hugged the doctor with all his might.

“Thank you,” he whispered, before he grabbed his coat and left the office before the doctor could question him more.

**

Army days came and went. Surprisingly, everything passed smoothly without a hitch and before he knew it, two years were gone and he was out of the barracks. He was a civilian again. Walking along the banks of Han River, he embraced his identity and the peace he newly found. He was no longer just a Korean pop singer. He was also a soldier and more importantly, a simple man. Drinking the beer in his hand, he watched in silence as the sun set in the distance, blanketing the river into shades of coral pink, magenta and orange. The river always flows, he observed to himself, even with stones hindering its progress, the river still flows.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he pressed the numbers in a trance.

“I think I’m ready to talk to you about the walls.”

**

It must have been exhilarating for his doctor friend, he would imagine, the doctor had waited many years for him to reveal his secret; he must have been overjoyed to finally burst his bubble of curiosity and hear the truth! Yet, the doctor betrayed no sign of revelation or even happiness.

“Aren’t you surprised?”

He could not resist asking, almost resenting his friend for not reacting to his confession with the appropriate awe.

The doctor laughed, “I heard the exact same story two years ago. It just came from a different mouth.”

He was confused but he dared not probe further. That, however, did not stop him from forming a huge pout. The doctor laughed.

“Jaejoong ah, this is off the record but I’m speaking to you as your friend and not your doctor,” his friend’s eyes twinkled at him like stars, “the person who first narrated to me the story is someone whom you are extremely familiar with.”

And before he had any time to react, the doctor scribbled a number on his notepad and left the office. A minute of silence passed. He could hear the clock ticking the seconds away. In front of him, the ashtray loomed next to the notepad, a cigarette still emitting wisps of smokes with the faintest flame. He glanced at the ashtray again before he carefully tore the paper off the notepad and placed the torn paper in his pocket.

Picking up his coat, he made sure to extinguish the flaming cigarette before he left his friend’s office.

**

He reached home in less than ten minutes and before he could even register what he was doing, the torn paper was out of his pocket and his fingers had pressed the buttons on his phone frantically.

“Hello…” he whispered to his phone as the voicemail rang in his receiver. The voicemail beeped in response.

“Are you afraid of white walls too?” he asked.

“Yes,” a hoarse bass voice came through; shocking him as his trembling hands almost let the electronic device slip loose, “And I bet we fear it for the same reason too,” the self-deprecating laughter echoed.

He smiled, “That just makes us a perfect pair.”

The hoarse laughter continued, booming like a stereo at full blast.

“You’re so silly, Jaejoongie.”

And Jaejoongie finally laughed, letting go of the rising happiness in his chest in waves of chuckles, one crashing after the other.

The white walls may have been the last sight they saw of each other but it was now transformed into the reason they were reunited together.

The End.