There’s a boy (well, man; despite what you see him as he is definitely a man) that is always beside your bed when you wake up in the white hospital room. He’s usually close to holding your hand, but not quite: as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear when he touches you.

Either way, he is here every morning when you wake up without fail, but you don’t know him, maybe you do, you’re not really sure. He seems familiar, but that could be because you see him everyday.

And, again, the room you’re in is white. A very sterile, blinding, ethereal white. You’d mistake this for the afterlife if it wasn’t for the clear beep of the heart monitor to your left and the odd smell of throw up and cleaning supplies that is ever present in the room. You’ve never been one (at least you think you’ve never been one) to try and predict what death would be like. But you’re almost positive it doesn’t smell like this.

There’s a chair on the right side of your bed, the boy man sits there. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable, and you’ve apologized to him for it before, but he always replies ‘No, no, it’s alright. I could ask for a different chair if I’d like.’

For some reason you’ve always had the strangest inkling that he’s lying, he doesn’t seem like the type to complain about those trivial things, but then again, how can you make conclusions about what he does and doesn’t seem like.  

Though you don’t know many things (like why you’re here, where here is, what non-hospital food tastes like, and what the boy’s man’s name is), you  do know for sure that people aren’t telling you everything you need to know. Sometimes other people besides the boy man come visit you. They’re your parents, you aren’t sure how you know that, but you do, and when you ask them questions they always hesitate before answering. This you know indicates they are lying, or at least slightly altering the truth.

The truth. That’s something you want to know.

~

Today the boy (you finally decided to just call him a boy despite clear physical disagreements) brought you something. It’s a white envelope. In this white envelope is a small card made of very expensive paper (you’ve seen cheap paper from what the doctors make you fill out, so you know this is the good stuff) and on it there is what you recall to be the name of a season. It says Spring in a pretty script that makes you smile, but, like many other things, you don’t know why.

The boy too looks happy, until he sees your smile falter, then he doesn’t look happy anymore.

“I don’t get it.”

He stays silent, much of the time he spends with you is in silence, it makes you lonely, but maybe that loneliness is seeping from him.

“I suppose you don’t have to get it, what use is it to know what Spring is anyway...” There’s an emotion that accompanies this, but you can’t quite place it. Maybe its many emotions mixed into one. Is that even possible?

“I know what Spring is! It’s a season!” You’re unconsciously pouting when you do this, and it brings the smallest of smiles to the boy’s face, your insides bubble strangely.

“Yes, Spring is indeed a season.”

He concedes this, yet why do you still feel like he's giving something up?

~

It’s a few days later (how many days have you been in this hospital?) when you finally figure out what Spring might mean. The boy hasn’t been able to spend as much time with you as before, and you’re pretty sure the hollow feeling in your stomach is not from refusing the nasty hospital meals but from his absence. It’s the only explanation. Anyway, today the boy is here again, and has talked a bit more with you. It’s strange how you didn’t realize this before, but he has a nice voice, the boy that is. You really like it. There is no uncertainty in this conclusion, you really do like his voice.

The room has taken to silence for a little while, a silence you willingly break to tell the boy your revelation.

“Something happened in Spring, didn’t it?” What you’ve said is simple, but you hope it conveys that you feel the season’s importance.

He doesn’t acknowledge the signal you sent; in fact, he seems even more deflated than before. “Yes, something happened in Spring.”

Letting the conversation subside like this is unbearable, you know something happened, something important. “No, you don’t understand. I know something important happened in Spring, an event, a very important event.”

His eyes remain dull, as if light can no longer reach the far corners, not like it used to when you first started speaking in single words. With each passing day he looks more defeated, and this makes you more determined to remember this important thing that you swear you didn’t forget.

~

It was about two weeks ago, you’re pretty sure, when he said he’s going to have to get back to work. Your parents still visit you every other day, but it’s not the same as him. It’s beginning to feel like he wasn’t even here, like he was just a figment of your imagination conjured up to keep out the loneliness.

As another week passes you have thoroughly convinced yourself that the boy with the nice voice was never here, and it makes you... sad. You almost feel abandoned, like a desolate child, like half your soul has drifted off into some dark abyss. But that’s just being dramatic. You aren’t positive, but you’re pretty sure you aren’t one to be dramatic.

He comes the next day, but it isn’t before you wake up. He comes sometime at ten in the morning, you woke up at seven.

You wouldn’t admit it (since that’d just be weird, you don’t know him after all) but the area near your heart gave a sort of flutter when his tired form entered the room. He plops himself in that chair to the right of you, his hand again falls close to yours, but this time he does touch it, your pinkies are graze just barely and the pit that was in your stomach from his absence is filled with a heavy warmth.

“I...” you want to say you missed him, but would that be out of place? He’s looking at you expectantly, the twinkle he once had in his eye back near the beginning (whenever that was) has returned with your voice. You sure hope that this is what he wants to hear. A strange feeling that you haven’t yet felt in his presence bubbles in your innards and causes heat to come to your cheeks. It makes you almost not say it, but you do anyway, “I missed you.”

They’re simple words. They’re three, short, simple words, yet as you look into his eyes, willing an answer from him, you see the indescribable joy it brings to him.

“I missed you too.” His beautiful voice says, warmth present in every syllable.

He finally places his hand above yours.

~

Luckily, he hasn’t been away as long as he was a few months ago (has it really been a few months?) and your conversations have become much more extensive. You aren’t sure if this is a correct assumption, but you think you may have been witty before all this (whatever it is) happened, because you’re able to say things that make him laugh now. That twinkle mentioned a little while ago, its in his eyes everytime he sees you now, you’ve noticed. And he even hugs you before he leaves.

This makes you happy. You don’t tell him.

Today he’s brought a box for you. It’s on your lap right now. In it are pictures. Lots and lots of pictures of him and you. Some are funny, others are cute, and some are intimate, like the one where he’s hugging you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. That one is intimate.

Unconsciously, a gradually widening smile is weaving its way onto your visage as you look through more and more photos of him and you. But the pictures in this box, they aren’t only from whatever age you are now (you’re pretty sure you’re in your mid-twenties, but that’s beside the point) the pictures are also of you both from childhood and, of course, beyond.

There are at least three pictures in each of your small hands, but you’re looking into the box as you speak to him, “So we are childhood friends. I knew it had to be something like that.”

You’re happy, and you don’t notice the falter in his smile as you stare down joyously at these new found treasures. “But this picture.” You hold up the one of him resting his head on your shoulder, you know, the one with the back hug. “This picture is certainly more than friendship.”

His head ducks slightly, and you stare hard at him trying to force an answer to your implied question. “You can say it’s more than friendship, but not really.”

Double meaning. That is the only phrase you can associate with what he just said.

~

Spring. You’ve been trying to remember what Spring meant to you. An important event happened sometime that season. It was a one day thing, but that isn’t at the front of your mind right now. Your ever increasing feelings are. It was... easier when you didn’t really remember feelings, but that was because you were confused, in a white room, with an annoying beeping sound, and no memories.

You have memories now, you remember almost everything. Except this boy’s name and why you can’t remember it in the first place. His name may be a mystery, but you remember all (at least you think all) of your moments together.

Yes, you both are childhood friends; yes, that does mean he’s very close to you; no, you two technically aren’t ‘intimate’ (whatever that means), but those feelings, you are definitely more than childhood friends, it only took your new fresh perspective on life to realize all the signals he’s been giving you, and all your obliviousness in thinking he didn’t reciprocate what you seemed to have always held chained close to your heart.

With all (well, most of) your memories intact, you’re finally being released from the hospital. You still don’t know what Spring means, and you still don’t know his name, but you’re happy that you can go home to the apartment you have in Seoul, and the job you’ve been absent from for what appears to be five months. Apparently your boss had visited you at some point too, he was the slightly pudgy, good natured man that came in every other sunday to tell you stories about his time as a buddhist monk in China (you know he was making things up, but that’s okay, it was entertaining).

The boy is beside you as you walk to his car, he’s taking you home, or he is supposed to...

“Where are we going?” you know for a fact (you know many things for a fact now) that this is not the way to your apartment.

“Trust me.” He didn’t have to tell you, you’d trust him with your life.

The car has stopped somewhere next to a river (the Han river, you know this for a fact) and the boy (but you’ll call him a man now) rushes out of his side of the car to help you out of yours. His grip on your right elbow and left hand is firm and comforting as he helps you out,  you’d expect nothing less from him.

“This is the Han River.” You state proudly, he smiles and nods his head, leading you to the railing so you both can look down at the rushing waters of the river.

“My name is Jung Yunho.” It takes you awhile to process what he’s said, and all you do is stare blankly at him until you realize the weight of his words and go wide eyed. The entire world seems to pause to give you two a moment to collect. Your body wants to move, but it just can’t, and he continues.

“My name is Jung Yunho, and we are more than friends.” His body starts encroaching on your space, you welcome it fully. “In Spring you were driving me to the airport when I told you to wait for me.”

Wait.... Wait!

“And it was raining.” You contributed, he gave a weak smile, probably realizing that you’re remembering the... unforunate event.

“Yes, it was raining.”

“And it was in the middle of an intersection when the car in front of me randomly braked.” You nod, as if agreeing with yourself, not really caring about this memory, it’s all in the past anyway.

“Yes.” The man Yunho seems to take this memory harder than you, and your body moves, almost instinctively, so you’re leaning into his side, head resting on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“There were so many cars, all coming at the same time,” His voice wavers, but you squeeze his arm and he recovers. “But...”

“But it’s all over now, and you told me to wait, and I did, I’m here, waiting for you, since the beginning and always.” You are one of those people that aren’t positive about many things (before you even lost your memory), but you are a hundred percent sure of this moment.

So when you turn to face Yunho, and he turns to face you as well, you are absolutely positive that Yunho has been waiting for this just as long as you have.

It’s not like one of those movies, where everything slows down and the world suddenly stops to focus on you two as the sunsets in the distance (for one, it's not close to sunset). But, the kiss is soft, and you both do love it.