"I feel something
It's better than nothing..."
Better Than Nothing by Sarah Jaffe

I didn’t have the guts to take a thorough look at my surroundings, sitting in one of the many cheaply made folding chairs that sat in the partially uninhabited part of the circle that the chairs were lined in. It was enough to listen to the quiet murmurs from the people around me that frequented these kinds of things. I read the name on the card over and over again, still not one hundred percent sure how it was pronounced.

   Nichkhun Horvejkul.

   I didn’t look up from the card, even when someone sat down in the chair next to mine. Looking up, acknowledging where I was, that would only make worse. It would make it real. And for the moment, I liked things not being real for me.

   “Well, I see a couple new faces. That’s always a good thing.” A soft cheery voice said right before the sound of a body landing in one of the squeaky plastic chairs forced me to look up, meeting my eyes with a pair of burning dark brown ones. If eyes could show multiple emotions, his were that of utter joy and tinted with a looming mist of passion and heartbreak, all stirred up with a little tiredness. But even still, the beautiful faced honey blonde male was just as handsome as I remembered him to be at Dr. Park’s office.

   “To those of you that don’t know, I am Nichkhun Horvejkul,” He introduced himself to the newcomers in the group. “But I prefer if you’d call me simply by Khun . . . Some of you have been to support groups before, some of you, it’s your first time. I think it’s important for everyone to remember why we’re here . . . because everyone in this room shares something in common. Let’s start with introductions, shall we? Who wants to go first?” Nichkhun’s eyes finally left mine as he looked around at the group and someone sitting on the furthest end of the circle from me raised their hand.

   I closed my eyes to avoid meeting those burning chocolate eyes of the counselor, trying to wrap my head around the words that he’d just said. How could it be, that such a handsome and smiling face such as his, was just as sickly as the rest of us in this group? I opened my eyes to watch his face as he nodded and listened to everyone’s introductions.

   By the time it got to be my turn, I was a nervous ball of emotions, struggling just to swallow the lump in my throat at all the people that were gathered here, losing hope just like me. Why is it so comforting for others to share in our misery? Isn’t that a bit ed up?

   Everyone’s eyes were on me but all I could think about was Mrs. Kang, who had cancer twice before and was now dealing with stage four of her third battle; or the guy sitting next to me, Yunho, who was an aspiring singer, until he developed cancer on the tissue of his vocal chords. The eighteen year old that everyone just called Jr., who tested positive for HIV just six months ago; though his treatment kept him from getting sick, he himself knew that everything was just a matter of time.

   “It’s alright, man.” Someone said to encourage me.

   “Don’t be shy.” Said another, and I found myself looking up into the chocolate eyes of the man sitting directly across from me with a clipboard in his lap, his honey hair covered his thick eyebrows that were furrowed with anticipation.

   “I’m Kim MinJun.” A good start, I told myself as I tried to force more words out. “I don’t have an interesting life story about my illness . . . I’m just your average husband, with an average paying job, average house, average life–Do I really have to say a whole lot? I mean, how ty is that, just sitting around talking about myself?” I looked up at Nichkhun, who refused to answer my question and left me to fidget nervously in the spotlight.

   With a sigh, I looked down at my hands before holding my chin up and looking at my audience as I spoke, slowly at first. “I-I guess . . . What I could say about myself, is . . . I haven’t told my husband that I’m dying . . . When we met, I promised him that I’d always be there, and that we could grow old and I’d still love him; that no matter how much time passed, I’d be there every time he wanted to randomly take a vacation . . . or dye his hair some absurd color.” I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of my beloved Taecyeon with red bangs, already feeling my throat swell with a frustrating lump of emotion. “I promised him that. And yeah, somewhere along the way, our spark died down a little and now it’s almost invisible–To the point that we barely speak anymore and now I’m scared to speak to him, because what would I have to say? What could I say to him that isn’t going to hurt him?” I felt something inside me stir, like finding a box that held a secret key. I was scared and I admitted it. The door was now open and all I had to do was walk through it, yet my feet still felt as if they were planted firmly on the ground, unmoving. “But we promised to stay together . . . and I just don’t think I’m strong enough to break that promise.”

   Someone handed me a box of tissues and I noticed that my cheeks were soaking wet, I let out a weak sob of a laugh, wiping my face with the tissue and taking another one for my eyes. I was surprised that the room had silently agreed to give me a moment to get myself together, and that’s when I realized that everyone in this group had been where I am now, fighting the truth and trying to fill it with denial in a hopeless battle. The only difference is that I had been doing this since before I was sick, before I was doomed; refusing to admit what was true.

   The tearful laughter didn’t stop then, and I found myself hunched over with my elbows braced up on my knees and my face in my hands. “That’s the first time I’ve been honest with myself in two years . . . god it feels great and hurts at the same ing time–how does that happen?”



I stared at the bottles that were laid out on the bed in front of me, the afternoon light seeping in the cracks of the closed curtains while I sat alone in the house. There were three white bottles with white caps and a bunch of fine printed labeling that I couldn’t read without my glasses on. One yellow bottle with one of those special caps designed for child safety, and one brown bottle. My head hung down to where the tip of my nose almost touched the bedding and I closed my eyes tightly, tight enough to hold it all in.

   Nichkhun was right, when he pulled me aside after the meeting and – in a very calm and low tone – told me that I should tell my husband about my sickness.

   That was last week.

   And along with my latest test results, that informed me that my white blood cells were not stabilizing, came the delivery box of medication that I was under specific order by Dr. Park to now take daily; a total of eight pills throughout the day would be the start of my ‘uphill battle’. I looked around the room before finally deciding that I needed company, but who could I turn to?

   The thought of Chansung’s endearing cow eyes were usually a comfort, but they weren’t what I needed right now. And Taecyeon was working late, not that he was the kind to give advice anyway, least of all on a situation I was trying desperately to hide from him. I needed someone who understood, first hand. I needed a listener and a counselor. I knew exactly who I needed.

   I packed all the pills back in the box and hid it under the bed before grabbing my keys and heading out the door.



Why do we seek out momentary comforts, when we know deep down inside that we’re bleeding heavily and a simple band-aid won’t fix it? Or maybe I was just the only one who did that. I found myself snooping around the hospital with a bouquet of flowers in my hand as if I was visiting a patient. My eyes scanned the staff, looking for those soft powder blue scrubs that I’d seen last time but had no luck even after twenty minutes.

   Feeling defeated and utterly silly, I went over to the trash bin to toss the flowers, but a soft hand stopped me and I looked up into the milk chocolate eyes of the person I was looking for. “Those are too beautiful to throw out, MinJun . . . At least give them to one of the patients first, it’ll make their day.” Nichkhun smiled brightly for only a moment before the look on my face changed his expression and he was suddenly looking at with an overly concerned frown. “Are you okay?”

   Was I?

   I shook my head but swallowed my tears.

   His face softened instantly, as if he had been through this dozens – no hundreds – of times before. “Come with me, MinJun . . . You look like you need to talk.” I was led into a small room that looked as if it was used for staff lunches. There were a couple of vending machines on one of the walls while the corner was an L-shaped counter with a sink and a refrigerator and a few other common appliances. Nichkhun motioned for me to sit at the large round table that was in the center of the room and I did as I was told, saying noting while he fixed a couple cups of coffee and brought them over on a plastic tray, along with a few packets of sugar and cream.

   “What’s on your mind?”

   I looked at Nichkhun, wondering how exactly I would answer a question I didn’t understand the answer to myself, so I tried to sum it up in as few words as possible. “I got my box of medication today.” That was a start.

   “And then how did you feel?” Was all he said as he stirred his coffee with one of those tiny black straw stirrers.

   “And then I became afraid . . . that when I start taking them–”

   “It’ll be too real for you.” I usually didn’t like people finishing my sentences, but this time it was different. This time, there was a something in Nichkhun’s eyes that left me with nothing to say.

   “Y-Yeah . . .” I took the cowardly way out and distracted myself with preparing my cup of coffee.

   “You’re being so fearful of what is inevitable, MinJun. And you’re letting that fear rule your every move and thought . . . But you can’t go backwards in life, you can only go forward.”

   “How can you expect me to willingly go forward when the only thing in front of me is pain and death?” I murmured, barely loud enough to even hear myself.

   When Nichkhun let out an exasperated sigh, I looked up to see him leaning his chin into his palm, staring at me as he propped himself up with his elbow on the table. “So you’ve given up, then?” I nodded and his face visibly fell, which made me feel like an . “Why do you make that so hard to believe?”

   “What?”

   “It’s impossible for me to believe that you’ve just given up, since you still go through the burden of not telling your husband about your illness, even if it’s just to spare his feelings . . . Why would you do that unless you still had hope?” His intense eyes burned at me as his words sunk into my skin and I felt oddly stronger. “The fact is that I know you want to live, MinJun . . . But you’re going to die. And every day that you live in turmoil over what is bound to happen, and you let it weigh down your heart . . . is just another day that you’ve robbed yourself of happiness that you could be sharing with your husband.”

    Nichkhun stood up with his coffee and drank the rest of it before tossing the paper cup in the trash. He then grabbed my coffee and reached into the front pocket of his scrubs and pulled out a pen, writing something on the side of the cup. “I’ve got some patients I need to check on now, but you can call me any time you need, I’m usually free after eight o’clock.”

   I stared at the number that was written neatly on the side of the cup as he set it back down in front of me.

   “Take care of yourself, MinJun . . . make sure you get sleep and eat regularly.”

   “Khun,” I spoke up before he could leave the room and he looked back at me as I half stood out of the chair. “Can I ask you something?”

   He smiled, actually he smirked, and I tried not to get distracted at how handsome he was just standing there. “You just did.”

   For the first time that day, I laughed, looking down at my fidgeting hands and shaking my head. “Something personal, I mean.”

   “Go ahead.”

   I looked up at him. “What do you have . . .?”

   He understood immediately, and from the expression on his face, I could tell that he was struggling, even if he tried so hard to look strong. “Osteosarcoma . . . it’s a bone cancer.”

   “When did you find out?”

   “I was fourteen.”

   I frowned at him and felt this overwhelming urge to hug him. “That must have been hard on you.”

   Nichkhun shrugged, staring ahead before nodding and smiling, his eyes full of what I recognized as memories. No matter how much practice you’ve had, or how at peace you are, there’s no escaping memories; they imprint themselves into the creases of your smiles and frowns, their impact ever ceases even after some of them have faded. And all the sad smiles in the world can’t change them.

   “I think I turned out okay.” He said after a while. “It’s the pain that makes us appreciate the comfort . . . I’ll see you later, MinJun.” He left me sitting in a quiet oblivion of emotions, my world momentarily turned upside down once again. This rollercoaster I was on was tiring, and somewhat senseless. I needed it to end.