“Are you really dying?” Park asked, twisting around in his chair.

Oh gasped, a hand over his heart. “How rude!” he snapped. “And no. It is nothing but a small case of tuberculosis. Nothing to worry about, my sir. If anyone here should be questioning the other, it surely is not you, but I. How did you get here, sir? Has Byun really gone mad? I would not be surprised at such news, for I have seen it coming for quite some time.”

“No, he hasn’t gone mad.” Park reassured, settling back into the chair. “I really did appear there. Look, it’s a thing you wouldn’t understand. Think of, like, A Christmas Carol. I-”

“Are you saying you are a ghost, sir?”

“Kris,” Junmyeon sighed, and Kris wasn’t sure if it was Junmyeon’s lack of breath or his starting frustration. “We have to talk about this. Come sit.” He pushed the chair across the table out with his foot.

“I’m making dinner right now.”

“Dinner can wait.”

“Do you want to eat or not?”

“I’m not hungry anyways. I want to talk.”

It was Kris’ turn to sigh, and he sank into the chair, avoiding eye contact with Junmyeon. He put his head in his hands, trying to stay away from Junmyeon. Focus on the peeling wallpaper instead of Junmyeon’s hands, the way they always shook nowadays, no matter what he did about it. Focus on the way the kitchen lightbulb was dimmer than usual, and that it would probably blow soon instead of the way his eyes seemed to pout (because that’s physically possible; Kris wouldn’t know, he failed science freshman year and had to take it again sophomore year, and only passed because of Junmyeon), glossing over and how easy it was to tell that he was also holding back tears because a conversation about his own death was harder for him than it was Kris.

Kris was silent, just running his finger over his lips absentmindedly, afraid to speak in fear of breaking down in front of Junmyeon. It’s not that he was afraid to show his feelings, but he felt as if he had to stay strong for Junmyeon. Junmyeon seeing him so distressed over this would just make matters worse for him, and that wasn’t something Kris wanted to do to him.

“Good morning.” he told him, and Byun slammed a hand over his eyes, groaning.

“I feel that I must be passing on,” he sighed. “For I have seen an angel and the Great White Light that Mr. Oh has also come so close to, close enough to touch. I always believed I would survive longer than him, as I have a lengthier education, an abundance of wealth, and more health than he, but whatever strange dream I must be entranced in has surely come to kill me.”