Kai

Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.

– Hamlet, Hamlet

He learns of the word from his mother.

His earliest memories are painted in broad of vibrant colors. He can never discern the exact time and place, only the echoes of tinny laughter and a montage of beaming faces.

Love is happiness, his mother whispers into his hair, and in that moment, he believes her.

He learns of its devastation from his father.

His most vivid memories – the ones haunting his nightmares – are accentuated with sharp flashes of pain which then fade to black. Sometimes he traces the scars on his back, wondering exactly how he received a particular one. Most of the time, he wills himself to forget.

Love is nothing but pain, his father slurs brokenly, and when the whisky bottle shatters against his skin, he can’t help but agree.

He learns of its spell from a stranger.

His most recent memories are colored blue and green with cloying loneliness and blinding envy. He loses track of the hours he spends waiting by his brother’s door; he must have spent days – no, weeks, vying for a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. The thought of his brother fading out of his life sends a pain so acute to his chest that it brings him crashing to his knees. Collapsed in the corner of the hallway, he sees two shadows stretched by the setting sun: one he recognizes, one he does not. He hears his brother’s quiet murmur intermingled with the rumble of the stranger’s voice and he strains to catch the last vestiges of conversation.

Love is being unable to look away, the strange voice says with feeling, and as he watches the stranger’s lips descend upon his brother’s, he’d give anything for it to be untrue.

He learns of its worth from his brother.

His happiest memories are tinted sepia with warmth and tenderness. He can recall the exact moment in which each occurs, complete with the minutest of details. He collects them jealously and only revisits them in his darkest hours, lest they become dull with wear. He can clearly see the light that dances in his brother’s eyes and the smile that plays upon his brother’s lips. He sees, too, the unshed tears and trembling hands as his brother cradles his broken body.

Love is sacrifice, he tells his brother in a voice too solemn for a boy of ten, it is the willingness to give up your own happiness so someone else may have theirs.

He learns of its truth by himself.

Kai used to think himself a good person – a long, long time ago. He used to be a good son and an even better brother. He likes to think that when his mother left Taemin and him behind with their wreck of a father, he had the moral high ground to hold them in contempt.

For being so selfish.

As a child, Kai used to think that what his parents held was a poor facsimile of what love truly is. After all, how can someone stand to hurt those they claim to love? He knows he would do anything to keep Taemin smiling, even if it means he has to bite back his own tears.

Because love is selfless.

But it’s a lie.

Kai feels the crippling pain ripple through him every time Taemin smiles his phantom smile – the one which is so sweet and lovesick that Kai can hardly bear to look. He feels a frantic edge, an irrational yet gripping fear, when he sees a hefty envelope bearing the insignia of a foreign university addressed to his brother. He feels a rush of euphoria and relief when his brother’s hands clutch at his shoulders, the unspoken promise to stay etched into his skin. He sees the dullness in his brother’s eyes and the defeated slump of his brother’s shoulder but chooses not to acknowledge the cracks.

Love is selfish, he thinks, but with Taemin’s hand in his, he cannot bring himself to let go.