“Sigmund Freud considered a quota of escapist fantasy a necessary element in the life of humans,” said Jinyoung, but Jaebum was not buying his excuse to leave the hospital.

“I’m sorry, but with the state of your arm, we advise against you leaving the compounds of our medical facilities. Your wound infection could easily worsen if in contact with non-sterile environments,” said Jaebum in a monotonous voice.

“If it’s just an advice, I can choose not to heed it, right?” Jinyoung tried. The icy stare he got in return meant no. “But I really need my books. Just let me go to the library for an hour? Please?”

His desperate begging fell on deaf ears. There was no way Jaebum would say yes to his request, not with that heart of stone.

It was with much tactic and luck that Jinyoung managed to evade Mark’s omnipresence. By bribing Nayeon with delivery coupons, he had deciphered the unintelligible timetable for Mark’s schedule, in turn making sure to always be at the opposite end of wherever the latter was in the building. Where there were unavoidable situations that required both of them to be in the ward, Jinyoung would pretend to be asleep.

Things were going well and the goal of avoiding Mark until the day of his discharge was just a little more promising, but then, when he least expected it, the world turned its back on him. The time he’d had alone had been gravitationally circumscribed by when his fates would pull him back. And they had pulled now — double-fisted. Mark sitting by his bed. Mark talking to his mother.

What the hell is going on? 

The cordial atmosphere between them was unsettling. He knew from the way his mother slapped her thigh as she howled in laughter that she was positively charmed by Mark, and the next thing that would happen would be her telling him one of those embarrassing anecdotes she saw simply as a loving testament to her son.

She might have found Jinyoung wetting his pants at the ripe age of eight lovely and cute, but Mark might barf.

Jinyoung was frozen by the entrance to the ward, staring intently at the blonde beauty. He swore it was only to observe his reactions in case his mother exposed his tainted past, and that his palpitating heart was merely a result of climbing three flights of stairs.

And lo and behold, sweet llamas of the Bahamas! Mark turned and looked straight at him. He stood up, and just before he began walking towards Jinyoung – for he seemed suspended and immobile as if he was trapped in a viscous gelatin from which only Mark’s movement might free him – his mother saw him.

“Oh, Jinyoung! Where have you been, not answering my calls?” she exclaimed, voice laced with worry. A few seconds ago, she seemed to be enjoying her banter with Mark and showed no signs of uneasiness. Mark was that charming.

“I-I was j-just…”

“Nevermind!” his mother smiled, beckoning for him to come over. “Come and sit with us, darling. Mark here has been such a sweetheart telling me all about you.”

“Me?” Jinyoung spun around to double-check if there was someone else standing behind him, not believing his ears. Why would Mark talk about him? And what is there to talk about other than his disgraceful idiocy? He tried not to notice Mark’s playful smirk, but it kept obtruding at the corners of his vision.

His mother blushed, her cheeks tinged with a shade of pink Jinyoung never thought he would ever see on her. It was like she was brought back to her teenage years, sashaying on the clouds like an innocent, girly girl. She slapped her thigh again as she laughed – a habit that showed only when she was truly delighted. “Oh! He was just telling me that you’re a very nice and handsome boy, and–” she paused to clasp her cheek in feign coyness “–he could tell that that all came from me! Oh! What a gentleman he is, isn’t he?”

Jinyoung watched in astonishment. What Mark had done to his mother was beyond the pale – criminal – and he knew it. Because just look at that smug face! 

His mother was still giggling like a schoolgirl, until she glanced at her watch and decided it was time to leave for work. Talk about throwing her own son under the bus. Jinyoung never felt so wronged, suddenly pitying himself for being injured and then neglected and abandoned by his own family. He sent a look of contempt to his mother, attempting to get across as much sarcasm as he could possibly show. It was to no avail; his mother was blind with happiness.

That was how he ended up watching his only lifeline saunter away, hips swaying as though they were bidding farewell. Fare thee well, good luck. 

When it was just him and Mark left in the ward, Jinyoung felt more than a skinned chicken, and found himself wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The tension in the air was so thick, a knife wouldn’t have been able to cut through it.

“This is awkward,” he thought aloud. Upon recognising that the words thrown out were from himself, he stiffened up. If he could just combust into nothing right now…

“You think?” said Mark. He was smiling again. Stop smiling! That winning smile. I said, stop! 

“I d-did not mean it,” croaked Jinyoung. He sounded like a demonic baby. . 

“Hey,” Mark’s voice softened as he dropped his smile. “It’s totally fine. I mean, I know how you feel. I used to be the most awkward potato ever. Couldn’t ever look into people’s eyes.” He shrugged, like it was an insignificant part of his past, but his eyes said otherwise.

“I don’t think I can believe that,” said Jinyoung.

“I don’t blame you.”

“Well.” Jinyoung was becoming painfully aware of the sounds of himself breathing. The silence was frustrating, but he could not bring himself to speak as he observed Mark gazing out of the window. He was thinking – what about, Jinyoung had no idea, but he would certainly like to know – while he took in the scenery behind the grimy glass.

“Isn’t it beautiful out there?” said Mark.

There was an old, lone tree, its skeletal boughs twisted in grotesque angles. The grass was dry and ruthlessly trampled on by passers-by. And the sky a dull grey, warning of an impending storm. It was the most awful scenery.

“Yes,” said Jinyoung.

Mark raised an eyebrow at him, then dropped his gaze to reveal a subtle, knowing smile. “You don’t have to try to be nice. I know it’s not the most stunning out there.”

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It comes in many forms. That tree is rooted here, where people pass away daily. Even the grass surrounding it is ill-treated because everyone who visit is too distracted by the pain and suffering either themselves or their loved ones have to go through. Look, even heaven is about the cry on that tree. Don’t you think it’s so lonely?”

Jinyoung bit his lips once he realised the nerd in him was rambling off again. But somehow, his words appeared to pull a string in Mark’s heart. He could tell from the visible quiver in his eyes. Perhaps he feels the same?

He continued, “but it is in its loneliness that there is beauty. The fact that it is still standing strong despite all that is against it. You know, like its own Tupac anthem: ‘It’s just me against the world’?”

Mark’s chuckle broke his retrospective poise. “Really? Tupac? You’re a big fan?”

Jinyoung blushed. “Not really,” he said. “I just happen to read a lot.”

“I can see that. You seem to speak in rhymes and riddles. Very poetic. I’ve never met someone like you before.”

“Oh! I’m sorry if it was too much,” Jinyoung frantically apologises. He was bending over in a strange posture, scratching at his knees again – his reflex for anxiety – but having his bandaged arm in the way. “I j-just happen to say random stuff when I’m not thinking straight.”

Mark shook his head, dismissing his apology. “No, no. Not at all. I like it! I mean, I’ve never been the most artistic in any way so I find it really interesting. Admirable, even,” he confessed. 

He liked it? Jinyoung gulped. Knowing it was just a casual compliment didn’t really change the fact that his stomach tickled a bit in anticipation. Of what, he’d rather not think about.

“So,” Mark began, clearing his throat just before the silence returned. “I think, maybe, we should introduce ourselves to each other properly this time?” His eye smile gave away his memory of Jinyoung’s blunder outside the washroom, and Jinyoung was immediately embarrassed again.

“I’m Mark Tuan. Born in America. I’m twenty this year, am – was – a college freshman. Nice to meet you.” He reached out for a handshake and memories of his strong, glistening arm fresh out of the shower amplified in Jinyoung’s mind. Jinyoung was deeply ashamed; he vowed to go to church once he was discharged to ask for forgiveness for his sins.

“Uh,” he started very eloquently. “Uh I… I’m Park Jinyoung. I’m eighteen years old, so I go to high school. And well, I’m really sorry for mistaking you for an old man. That’s just… stupid.”

Mark burst into lively laughter like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. He was holding his sides as his body convulsed in amusement, rocking back and forth, and Jinyoung found that image so (unnecessarily) lovely. When he finally calmed down from his fit, he said, “oh don’t worry about it, Jinyoung. That was an honest mistake. A very cute one indeed. Forget about it, please.”

Jinyoung liked how Mark let this misunderstanding, that could be offensive to the average person, slide. He liked how his name rolled out from Mark’s tongue so naturally. Jinyoung. Jinyoung. Jinyoung. 

He also liked that Mark called his mistake cute.  

“Um, thank you?” he stammered. Then, Mark stood up, and his eyes widened.

Mark walked towards him.

He sat beside him.

He… put his hand on Jinyoung’s lap and petted it gently.

Holy. Jinyoung swallowed, except his throat was so tense, his saliva got stuck.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Mark beamed. He then added, looking up like he remembered something out of the blue, “also, don’t have to call me hyung. I prefer to keep things simple and friendly, also because we don’t do that back in the states.”

Jinyoung was still staring at Mark’s hand on his lap, grateful for the ugly hospital gown for the first time because if they were making direct contact, his skin might start burning already. Without looking up, he said, very tentatively, “M-Mark?”

“Yes, Jinyoung.”

“Mark,” he repeated. And a complex mix of emotions surged at him all at once. Mark’s name tasted soapy and foreign in his mouth, but at the same time he was feeling sparks of excitement and his toes were curled up in nervousness. Then a realisation hit him hard: he had a crush on Mark. And a mega, naïve one at that.

Well, . 

Jackson and Youngjae were Jinyoung’s best friends, but they were in many ways, also the bane of his existence. One would think that surely, with their decade-long friendship, they would be entirely supportive of each other and shower each other with love and appreciation. But no. The sympathy that they displayed when they heard about Jinyoung’s diabetes vanished after a day, and was instead replaced by a bombardment of questions that only brought back reminders of his awkward adolescent years.

“Is that why you ran away from that girl in middle school? Because she gave sweets to you when she confessed?” Jackson had asked over the phone, gasping in realisation, as though he just had some kind of intellectual awakening.

“It doesn’t work that way, you idiot,” Jinyoung was so close to screaming into his phone – he would definitely have, if Mark wasn’t sitting right across the room. He had to explain three whole times before Jackson understood. “Yes, yes. It’s type one diabetes. My diet is not as restricted as type two. … Yes, it’s type one. No, there’s no type three… This is why you should pay attention in biology class Jacks.” 

“So why on earth did you run away from the prettiest girl in class?” 

“Jackson!” Jinyoung had yelled, and Mark whipped his head around, his eyebrows raising in pure surprise. And that was how he had to run to the bathroom to excuse himself, again. In a hushed tone, he gritted his teeth as he sneered, “I don’t swing that way, Jackson.”

“, Jinyoung. Are you coming out to me? Over the phone?” 

He had never found a need to come out to his family or friends. He was always too occupied with his academic work to be in a relationship anyway. Yes, he had had crushes on a few cute guys in school, but that was it. And it wasn’t like he had trouble accepting his ual orientation. There was never a moment in his life when he felt he had to let others know he was gay. But this, over the phone and in a bathroom, a door away from the potential love of his life? It far exceeded his expectations.

“Wait, so,” Jackson had asked before Jinyoung could give him a confirmation. “Have you ever had a crush on me?” 

Rolling his eyes incredulously, he had replied, “why yes, I’m so insanely in love with you. How have you not noticed?” 

“Ha-ha, very funny Jinyoung. You know I like my bosoms and bottoms. Double B! OH! Is that why you were always looking at Mr. Kang’s ? Oh my god, I should have known!” 

This was why Jinyoung couldn’t ever divulge his secrets to Jackson, especially one that could potentially have an effect on his eternal happiness. Youngjae, on the other hand, he could trust a tad more. But with the younger’s weak resilience, it wouldn’t be long before they get dug up by Jackson – like how his Netflix password got leaked to Jackson’s entire neighbourhood.

It was also probably the reason why he was dying of stress, slowly but surely. Now, what to do about Mark? That was the question that hovered like a fire breathing dragon in his thoughts every second of the day. With nobody to share his feelings with, he did not have a clue what the answer to that question might be. With nobody to knock sense into him, he was falling deeper and deeper in love.

Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between.

“So, you’ve never been out of Korea before,” said Mark, repeating what Jinyoung had just told him. He seemed to not be believing that an eighteen-year-old had been living in the same town his entire life, and only just recently moved to Seoul for his high school education.  

“That’s right. I mean, I’ve always wanted to but you know my mother. Having this condition since I was young has made her a bit paranoid,” said Jinyoung. It was a regret he had had for a long time, not being able to travel out of his country. But he couldn’t blame his mother, knowing it was her method of loving him.

“I understand. But you’re going to be a legal adult soon, right? Technically, you’re free to go anywhere you want to then.”

“That’s true, but I wouldn’t want to break my mum’s heart.”

Mark’s lips shaped into an empathetic “o”, which, to Jinyoung, was dangerously distracting. They were plump, pink, and so, so pretty. Kiss thy lips and you will see what thou create – focus! You teenager. Thank goodness Mark broke their eye contact or Jinyoung could have lost his mind and leapt at him like an intoxicated, vile .

“I wanted to invite you to see my hometown, Los Angeles. But since you’re probably not going anywhere soon, maybe I should be the one visiting your hometown instead,” said Mark.

“My hometown? There is nothing to see. It’s just a less impressive version of Seoul, a partially developed city. Dirty streets, polluted air, and if you’re lucky you might see a bush or two,” said Jinyoung. It had never crossed his mind that anyone would ever want to visit his hometown.

“Nothing? But there is you.”

Is Mark… flirting with me? Jinyoung was speechless. Mark was staring straight into his soul, his eyes unblinking and the corners of his lips were lifted ever so slightly. The scene was soundless, the air a dense liquid. All Jinyoung could hear was the soft beating of his own heart.

Mark coughed inwardly. “Anyway, what are you planning to do after you graduate? College?”

Jinyoung had to clear his throat as well. “Uh, yes. College. I’m already looking into scholarships and hopefully, I can get into the course of my choice,” he said.

“And that is?”

“Literature.”

“I should’ve guessed that,” Mark smiled.

When Jinyoung wasn’t freaking out over Mark’s inhumanely good looks, or his inhumanely pleasant voice, or simply the fact that he was having a proper conversation with him, he could safely say they were compatible. At least with regards to conversation topics, as they never seemed to run out of things to share with each other. He was never a talkative person, and neither was Mark (or so he claimed), but when it was just the two of them, it was about getting lost.

Jinyoung got lost in Mark’s story. And Mark got lost in Jinyoung’s talk.

He used to shake his head when people said they believed in soulmates. Sure, it sounded pretty in a poetry book, but he wouldn’t readily agree to its existence. Then, he met Mark, and everything changed.

The cynic in him had become the converted, and the sceptic, an ardent zealot.

We’re coming, texted Jackson. And as soon as Jinyoung finished reading the message, two rowdy boys bolted into the room, making a beeline straight for him without bothering to close the sliding door.

“I missed you so much baby!” Jackson shrieked, then let out a high-pitched giggle reminiscent of those pesky little girls in American sitcoms. He pulled Jinyoung into an overly affectionate embrace, and gave him a huge, snacking kiss on the cheek.

What the ? Jinyoung scrunched up his face in disgust and shot Jackson a death glare – explain or die. Even Youngjae was dumbfounded, his jaw dropped not so much in shock but in pure horror.

Giggling again, Jackson slapped Jinyoung’s injured arm with a flamboyant flick of his wrist. Leaning in to whisper in his ear, he slurred, “do you feel attracted to me now?”

Jinyoung knew his friend did not mean to offend and was only joking, but still, what a bastard. That was the most stereotypical gay impression he’d ever witnessed and Jinyoung made a mental note to sit Jackson down one day and educate him properly on real love between men. Though to be fair, he had not talked about this with Jackson since the day it was revealed, and he knew he had to provide answers.

“Ew Jackson, I know you love Jinyoung to bits but can you please not do this in front of me? Get a room, seriously,” said Youngjae. He approached Jinyoung and gave him friendly hug.

It was just a casual comment, just usual banter between old friends, but Jinyoung couldn’t help but notice Mark staring at them from the other side of the room. His expression was neutral and it was impossible to read; but it was obvious his eyes flickered from Jinyoung to Jackson and back to Jinyoung repeatedly.

Jinyoung felt the urge to leap onto his feet and make himself clear, like in a mandatory scene from a melodrama, him begging on his knees while he would watch Mark pound the wall with his defiant fists: “it’s not what it looks like!” 

“…and then they decided it was a foul and the whole spectator stand rose and jeered! Can you believe that? Jinyoung? What are you staring at?” said Youngjae.

“Yeah, um, who is that?” Jackson added.

Jinyoung did not realise he wasn’t paying attention to his friends’ chatter until that last question. As both Jackson and Youngjae turned to look at Mark as if he was some kind of alien species in an enclosure, reality came crashing back down on Jinyoung.

“Uh, that’s Mark. My ward mate,” Jinyoung said slowly and carefully. He flashed a sheepish, toothy smile – the kind one would condition their faces to have during job interviews – at the blonde. Mark nodded respectfully at the two visitors as a greeting.

Youngjae, being the uselessly innocent one, grinned back at him. “Wow, you look really young for your age!”

Jackson, on the other hand, left his word filter (and brain) at home. “You are the old man Jinyoung was talking about? But you’re not an old man!”

Oh, how Jinyoung wished he could control his friends’ actions. They had a convenient tendency to say just the right things at the right time. Mark was playing along, pretending not to understand the direction of their conversation. But Jinyoung saw right through him. Behind that subtle smile was a playful smirk threatening to escape, and it was directed right at him.

At this point, Jinyoung was painfully aware of the heat that had crept up his face. There was no mirror, but he was certain his face was as red as a tomato. Abashed, he grabbed Youngjae by the end of his shirt out of the ward, stumbling as he struggled with his cumbersome bandaged arm, all while kicking Jackson along.

With Mark out of sight and hearing, he finally exploded with the wave of heat inside him, letting out a long sigh to release all the tension in his muscles. “Oh, for the love of Charles Dickens!” he exclaimed. “I almost shat in my pants in there!”

Youngjae frowned in concern. “What’s wrong? Is he not the old man Jackson was telling me about?”

“Sweetie, are you blind? He’s obviously not an old man. Anyone can tell he is around our age,” Jackson scoffed, crossing his arms while shaking his head disappointedly at Jinyoung. “Explain,” he demanded.

Jinyoung shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Yes, well, he is not. It’s a long story you do not want to hear about. In short, it was all a big misunderstanding and I just never had the time to tell you guys about it. What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal? For heaven’s sake, Mr. Park,” Jackson whined, moving his hand to clutch at his heart dramatically in expression of his hurt.

“Yeah, I don’t get what the fuss is,” concurred Youngjae.

Pushing up his imaginary glasses, Jackson straightened his back and put on a serious face. “The big deal,” he began, “is that our dear friend – best friend – Jinyoung cheated our feelings by lying about the identity of his ward mate.”

“But he already said it was a misunderstanding,” said Youngjae.

“No, no, my dear child. You are too innocent for your own good,” cooed Jackson. He then attempted to speak in the most erudite tone he could conjure, sounding vaguely like their discipline master in school. “According to my god-like calculations, something is not right. One, Jinyoung claims he had not had the time to contact us. I call bull. Does he have lessons? Assignments? No! He’s lazing his off on that bed all day long!”

Jinyoung opened his mouth to object, but was mercilessly dismissed, interrupted by Jackson’s pretentious voice. “Two, did you see that smitten look on his face just now? Glowing, glittery hearts were literally popping out from his eyes. I didn’t know a person can go so long without blinking! And that blush on his cheeks – come on, that shade of red can outshine my lucky underwear.”

“N-n-nonsense!” Jinyoung spluttered, his eyes shaking anxiously.

“See what I mean? Just, will you take a good look at this boy? Flustered, blushing, so quick to deny! I haven’t even made my conclusion yet,” said Jackson. Jinyoung wished he could wipe that smug look off his best friend’s face.

“You’re saying…” Youngjae began.

Jackson clicked his tongue as he snapped his fingers in glee. “That’s right! Park Jinyoung is in love,” he announced proudly, emphasising on the ‘L’ word so exaggeratedly that Jinyoung was prompted to look around furtively in case someone was listening.

“I am not!” he denied, a little too aggressively, making him seem even more suspicious than before.

“You are not what?”

“I am not in lo–” Jinyoung paused in the middle of his sentence, unable to continue. He had planned to fight his way using his usually glib tongue, but apparently, his tongue had tied up along with the guts in his body. There’s no reason to feel guilty or nervous, he told himself. But that was exactly how he was feeling – guilty like he committed murder and nervous with a sour taste in his mouth – because he knew he was not being honest about his feelings.

Jackson was evidently not buying it. “Then what? Are you two–” he gasped “–ing each other?”

It was Youngjae’s turn to yell. After struggling to follow the bizarre flow of conversation for minutes, he could take it no longer. “Okay, can someone tell me what the hell is going on? Why am I out of the loop? What’s this about Jinyoung liking what’s his name? Mark? Wait, since when did Jinyoung like guys?” He eyed Jackson, who pressed his lips in a tight line and shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Youngjae asked, mildly offended. His question was surprisingly directed to Jackson instead of Jinyoung.

“Hey, it was Jinyoung’s secret. Besides, I know how to maintain my right to silence in a total of five languages, okay?” said Jackson.

Youngjae narrowed his eyes, refusing to budge until Jackson raised both hands in defeat. “Okay, okay! I thought it would be funny to see your reaction to this with Jinyoung present. I came here wanting to , but who knew he already has his little boy toy and doesn’t care about us anymore,” Jackson groused.

At the side, Jinyoung had already given up trying to argue. It was not within his capabilities to win a verbal fight when his friends had his tail. They were not wrong. He just leaned against the wall in surrender, energy draining from his face.

Youngjae gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I understand you, friend. Welcome to the club. Now we can talk about cute boys together and let Jackson ogle at girls on his own,” he said.

For a moment, Jinyoung felt strangely relieved, that at least one of his best friends could understand him, and not make fun of him… or so he thought.

“So, are you two really ing each other?” Youngjae snickered.

Later, in the cafeteria when they were having lunch together, Jaebum spotted them and came strutting over in his usual ramrod posture.

“Your latest results are out, and I have two things to tell you,” he said to Jinyoung, waving the envelope in his hand. He considered the two visitors who were staring back at him (one of them with an enamoured gaze), as if he was asking for permission to speak in their presence.

“Go ahead, it’s fine. They’re my friends and they won’t care if I have lopsided balls,” Jinyoung replied, tossing in the joke just to see Jaebum’s facial muscles twitch, even if it was just by a nanometre – it didn’t.

“Firstly, your fracture is healing well, and you will be able to remove your cast in an estimate of two to three weeks.”

“Oh, smashin’!”

“Secondly,” Jaebum paused to study the charts on the report, “due to your diabetic condition and medical history, your body has developed a resistance against the cephalexin we used on you. This resulted in the spread of bacteria, specifically staphylococcus, deeper into your tissues at a rate beyond our expectations. Your immune system, already weakened by your high blood sugar, is unsubstantial to heal your external wound, especially with an added burden with your new antibiotic immunity. We will switch your intake to flucloxacillin, and hopefully it would be strong enough to aid your immune system.”

“Um, sorry but, what the flying is he talking about?” Jackson asked Jinyoung, completely ignoring Jaebum’s existence.

“In simple terms, your infection has gotten worse and we’ll have to have you hospitalised for another week or so,” Jaebum answered anyway. It was amazing how he was still expressionless.

“Oh, so Jinyoung is stuck here for another week?” Jackson confirmed, then squealed excitedly. “That is brilliant!”

Jaebum’s eyes flickered, the rare, slight movement indicating his confusion of why a friend would be delighted at his patient’s misfortune. He looked like he was going to say something, but eventually did not, and just walked away as usual, his starchy white coat moving stiffly behind him.

“You know what that means,” Jackson suggested, voice bubbling with feeling. “You have a week, which is seven days, or 168 whole hours to convince you-know-who to get you laid!”

“Stop, before I show up before your basketball collection with a box of nails. Also, just so you know, you are a great friend,” Jinyoung rolled his eyes.

“Ha-ha! Just remember to update me. I want all the nitty-gritty details,” Jackson winked, to Jinyoung’s distaste. He then added, “by the way, does that Jaebum always speak like that? Does he not care if people don’t understand him? Does he think speaking big, pretentious words makes him look hotter or what?”

“Dunno,” said Jinyoung.

Youngjae, on the contrary, smacked his lips vulgarly. “He is ing hot! Flaming!”

Jinyoung chuckled. Oh, what to do with his friends?

When he arrived back at the ward, Jinyoung was terrified to see a whole load of invasive-looking equipment by his bed. He was forced against his will to lie down, got poked black and blue by Nayeon in her desultory search for his veins, and was now strapped to a heart rate monitor. He felt like a specimen in some kind of sick experiment, lying helplessly while connected to machines by ugly wires.

“You alright?” Mark asked from his bed. He was sitting up, concerned, neck craning in attempt to get a good view of Jinyoung’s face.

“I’m fine, thank you” was what Jinyoung intended to say. But after his friends made a big hoo-ha in front of Mark, he somehow felt he was back to when they talked for the first time, shame and embarrassment causing him to only be able to croak in response.

He heard footsteps, approaching.

“Mind if I sit here? It’s easier to talk like that, plus, I don’t mind getting some extra sunlight,” said Mark. His close proximity amplified his voice, and Jinyoung was suddenly engulfed by the vibrations of his sweet tone.

“S-sure.” He could feel his heart panicking.

“Feeling okay with all this?” he asked again, referring to the medical equipment.

“It’s kinda inconvenient, but I guess it’s fine. Can’t wait to get them off though,” said Jinyoung.

Mark hummed in understanding. “Yeah, I feel you. But it’s probably necessary. I heard them talking about giving you a new antibiotic? The IV’s to supply you with the extra vitamins to boost your immune system. Helps with the switch in the pills. And the heart rate monitor’s just a precaution, in case you get a bad allergic reaction or something. It’s really unnecessary, to be honest.”

“How do you know so much about this? Have you been here for a long time?” Jinyoung himself had been to the hospital more often than the average person, yet he was still largely unfamiliar with most medical procedures. Mark was, least to say, well-versed.

“Mhmm,” came the ambiguous reply. Undoubtedly, Mark was reluctant to talk about it, and the last thing Jinyoung wanted to do was to force an answer. The elder cleared his throat to change the topic. “Your friends came to visit,” he stated, acknowledging their brief encounter.

“Um, yes. I’m sorry they were noisy and if they offended you in any way, I apologise,” said Jinyoung.

“Oh, not at all! They weren’t a bother and they were very friendly, calling me an old man and stuff,” Mark joked, chuckling quietly. He was quick to clarify that he was just kidding, but Jinyoung’s red face gave away that he was never really over it. “What were their names again? Jackson and?”

Mark was clearly listening to every word they said when Jinyoung’s friends were over, having remembered Jackson’s name. “The other one’s Youngjae,” he said. “The one with the eye-smile. And the snapback dude is Jackson.”

Mark hesitated. “And Jackson, he’s your–”

“–not my boyfriend!” Jinyoung cut in, almost shouting. Yikes. “Yeah he’s just annoying and was teasing me. Not my boyfriend, no way.”

Maybe it was the vehement determination in his words that were funny, or perhaps Mark just found him being flustered amusing, that his face lit up upon hearing that Jackson was just a friend. Jinyoung didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Trying to divert from this direction of conversation, Jinyoung racked his brains for whatever – any question – to ask Mark.

“Are you naturally blonde?” he eventually blurted. It might have been a stupid question, but he was genuinely curious. In his defense, because they were in a hospital, who was to judge if something like this could be part of a condition or disorder? Also, he didn’t think bleached hair could look so flawless.

That got Mark in a fit of giggles, and Jinyoung melted a little at how pure and innocent he sounded. “You’re so silly!” the elder said. “Of course it’s not! Do I look Caucasian to you?”

With those ludicrously defined features, yes, thought Jinyoung, but he shook his head instead. “What made you want to bleach your hair anyway?” he asked.

“I guess I’ve always wanted to try it. And I know what they say about it being damaging to your hair, but now that I’ve come to this point, I thought: why not?” Mark replied, bringing his fingers to play with his fringe. A couple of strands fell out, and he laughed. “Look! They’re gonna all fall out sooner or later anyway.”

Jinyoung sent him a questioning look. Mark never talked about his condition; in fact, it was one of the reasons why Jinyoung liked talking to him. It made him forget they were patients. It made him feel healthy, and alive. Yet he was feeling a different kind of connection to Mark now that he seemed to be comfortable about sharing his life with him.

“Well, I guess there’s really nothing to hide,” Mark began, the words coiling out of him. Jinyoung could tell he had never spoken at length about this to anyone. “I’m diagnosed with leukaemia.”

There was a pause. A void. A moment of them just waiting for each other’s response. But there was no exclamation, no offer of condolences.

Mark continued, “it’s chronic myeloid leukaemia, to be exact. Basically, my bone marrow is wonky and produces good-for-nothing cells. I didn’t find out about it in the earlier stages. It was only when I came to Korea to study that I began to feel unwell, started to lose weight, and that’s that. Doctor said I was already at the accelerated phase. I was going to come back for treatment two days after and my body decided to be a and take things up a notch. I was suddenly at the final, acute phase – the blast phase – and here I am. For three months and counting.”

His shoulders relaxed after that explanation, as if a load was taken off him. He remained smiling, but it wasn’t like his usual smile: the corners of his lips were lifted, but they didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jinyoung let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He thought he would be overwhelmed with different emotions, but he was in fact startlingly calm. Deep inside his heart ached, not because of the possibility of losing Mark in his life, but because he could feel the pain in the latter’s eyes. He quickly realised that it didn’t matter to him. He had truly fallen for Mark, and it didn’t matter even if he told him he was an alien from Mars. Mark was still Mark.

Also, he could tell the elder was trying to keep things light in his explanation, trying to prevent the mood between them to become sombre. And he didn’t want him to feel the need to downplay his illness out of consideration. Now, all he wished was for the chance to stay by Mark’s side no matter how life played out.

“Cool, thanks for telling me,” he said.

Mark looked at him like he just said a forbidden word. He cocked his head to the side and said, “you do realise what I’m saying, right? Jinyoung ah, I’m terminal.”

The ‘T’ word. Jinyoung detested it. “Don’t say that, you’re not terminal. Everyone has a chance at life and yours is as equal as anyone else’s. Just don’t come knocking at my door when you’re eighty looking for somebody to play chess with,” he joked. The last part was a lie; he would very much prefer if his relationship with Mark sustained till they were on walking sticks, with falling teeth.

Mark visibly lightened up, sporting a slightly amused expression. “That’ll take a miracle,” he said.

“I quote Osho: ‘Be realistic: plan for a miracle’.”

With this, Mark was smiling – not a forced arrangement of facial muscles, but an actual smile from within him. “Come on, this is not something I can plan for. Are you trying to play god, Jinyoung?”

Beneath his worry and heartache, happiness was beginning to bubble again at the pit of Jinyoung’s stomach. This was the Mark he’d wanted to see, and he fell back into their casual banter, like nothing changed.

“Move aside, Jesus! I’m your new god, Park Jinyoung!” he bellowed, and Mark fell over with laughter. 

This was bliss. This was love.

They sat beside each other on Jinyoung’s bed for the next few hours chatting, shoulder to shoulder, looking out of the window at the solitary tree. Somehow, with the sun setting behind the horizon, the used-to-be-dreary scenery was now basked in a warm, orange light. Together, in a calm silence, they watched the birds dance in the distant sky.

“Remember when you said you felt the tree is still beautiful, and is standing strong despite all odds against it?” Mark brought up.

“Yes,” said Jinyoung, memories of their conversation a week ago floating back to him. “And that its beauty is in its loneliness.”

“Yeah, its beauty is in its loneliness, and its resilience,” Mark nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the subject of matter. “I aspire to be like that, like that tree. I want to be strong and tenacious, even if I’m the loneliest person on this planet.”

Jinyoung turned to look at Mark. He glowed under the light of the evening sun, the soft light deflecting at the angles of his face in the most alluring way, highlighting his grace and beauty. But it was also under the light that Jinyoung noticed the little details that signified his suffering: his tired eyes, his sunken cheeks.

“But you’re not the loneliest person on this planet,” he said.

“I am,” sighed Mark. “I don’t have anyone who cares about me. My family is back in the states, and ever since my parents divorced, we all went our different ways. My siblings all moved to different states, and lost all contact with each other. They never called, not once. In fact, I can’t say for sure that they know I’m in Korea.”

Jinyoung could feel that familiar tightness in his chest before he cries, and he bit his lip to suppress the urge to. He wouldn’t have guessed the easy-going, always-smiling Mark he knew would have gone through such hardship. Thinking about how difficult it could have been for Mark to bottle up all of this in himself sparked a sadness in him he had never felt before.

“I tried calling at least a hundred times, when I found out about my leukaemia. They never picked up, and I left voice messages on every single failed call. It’s been three months, I’ve not received a reply. I feel like I’m just a nuisance to them. Sometimes, I don’t even know if I can still call them family.” Mark sighed again, scratching his forehead in frustration. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to keep giving bad vibes. It just felt right to say it today, you know. At the right time, to the right person,” he said.

To the right person, Jinyoung repeated in his head. At this moment, he would do anything, give up anything – even his life – to cheer Mark up.

“Do you know the dandelion flower?” he asked the elder, mind wandering to when his grandmother used to gush about flowers to him. She had given him a book right before her passing, The Flower Language, endowing him the gift of the wonderful meanings of different flowers.

“I think so,” said Mark. “The yellow one?”

“Yes, but I’m talking about when it’s past its blooming stage and has become the white puff of seeds.”

Mark’s face blossomed in understanding; he let out a silent “ah”.

Jinyoung continued, “the dandelion means many different things in the flower language, and one of them is the strength to survive all challenges and difficulties. Some people find it a nuisance, and think of it as nothing but a garden weed. Yet, no matter how hard people try to get rid of the dandelions in their backyard, they always appear. With a gentle push from the wind, its seeds will disperse, spreading new life everywhere. It’s the symbol of courage, and its existence is never forgotten. You’re just like that, Mark. It doesn’t matter what others view you as, nuisance or not, you are yourself. You are brave and you are resilient. And you will always find a way to rise back up.”

Mark’s attention was drawn to Jinyoung’s eyes, making direct contact. And Jinyoung was feeling brave, in essence of the dandelion. He gazed right back into those shiny eyes. They were dark and emotional, the specks of golden brown sparkling with promise.

“You think I’m like the dandelion?” Mark asked, his voice small yet hopeful.

“Yes, and I can be your wind,” Jinyoung finished.

The sun was now fully retired, and darkness took over. It was an inky black; no stars, no moon, but still a beautiful darkness. As Jinyoung got lost following the last of the lingering light, he felt an unexpected warmth engulfing his unbandaged hand. Surprised, he looked down, to see Mark’s hand encasing his.

“Thank you, Jinyoung,” said Mark.

And all of a sudden, in the empty night sky, Jinyoung saw dizzying stars.

“your hand 
touching mine.
this is how
galaxies collide.”

The next thing he knew, Nayeon was rushing in, in a frenzy, because his heart rate monitor went off with an alert. Beep beep beep… But he remained smiling like an idiot.