||Modesty and truth had nothing to do with each other.||

You would ask, but you already know why. You already saw his frown, already knew he knew. “Hello,” a small greeting of nothing but fakeness.

“Tell me…am I going to die?” Was it really your job? To tell people they had to die—that there was no other way? What had enticed you into this occupation? The reason was nothing but the silly idea of chasing after a butterfly, nothing but that.

You sigh and shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

“How long do I have left?” This was the hardest question to answer. Telling a person how long they had left to live—how many more gasps of air they could breathe, how many more sweet fragrant they can intake.

“Three months.” He had longer than many other patients, you knew this. There was still a chance of saving him—there was. But it was slim, slimmer than the chances of winning the lottery. How many more times can you endure? How many sad faces does it take to break you? How many sobs, cry of distress, does it take for you to give up? This job is horrible.

But what had it been? What stupid teenage romance dream was it? What compelled you, what force drove you, for this outrageous dream? It was him…him who came and left—who disappeared and reappeared, who did magic tricks and enchanted all girls. It was a foolish dream. Stupid mistakes can never be erased. But then his smile flashed in your head and you knew the reason right away. Love—young, precious, foolish first love.

And the regret followed after, the strong hands of memories caressing each part of your skull, reprinting all those memories you want to forget, wedging them deep in your brain.

“I see.” Disappointment, sheer disappointment laced in the patient’s voice. He was a man of his mid-twenties, a few years younger than you. Patient Kim Jaejoong, age twenty-seven, graphic designer, cancer.

That’s the sad story of a beautiful man. And then there you came into the picture, you who was thrown into the mix as of random. All because of him, your first love, and your foolish girly dreams of chasing a ghost butterfly. The hideous side of love came showing its tail, mocking you and the man on his death bed, all too easily snickering at humanity. Oh foolish, how foolish, was first love?

•••

You came to visit Jaejoong a lot more after this. Before, it was just usual checkup routines, but lately, you felt obliged to visit the lonely man. No one ever visited him, no one. Not since he was hospitalized a month ago, not now, either. He rarely spoke, his eyes always blank, but he appreciated your help. Your presence always made him a bit happier, but only so much happier. Who can make a dead man smile? Just who?

No one but his beloved, and only his beloved can make him smile and laugh. Jaejoong had talked of a lover before—you only listened and nodded absentminded as you thought of your first love. All Jaejoong said was that his lover was a beautiful person who left because of reasons he didn’t know. And Jaejoong just started to list memories of them together—his lover was an extremely talented chef and had a voice of an angel.

But they never talked about anything else—not about his nearing death day, especially not that. They mindlessly chatted, keeping each other company. You felt closer to him, though all you’ve talked about was his lover and miscellaneous small talk. There was something that clicked with you two, and one day, you managed to make him laugh.

“Why did you choose this job? I’m sure being a doctor isn’t what you wanted.” Jaejoong asked one day, just like that, out of the blue. Their conversations always started like that—an out of the blue question. “You look…confined.” It was unexpected—really unexpected.

“You’re right; being a doctor wasn’t what I wanted to do. Maybe a pianist—I was a great pianist, or maybe a landscape photographer.” You replied with a slight smile. It was a warm June day, the sun was bright and yellow, and the children were out of school, wasting their time away on laptops and other digital devices. Jaejoong seemed so weak, so pale. So fragile and—he looks like death with unhealthy pink cheeks and a coughing symptom.

“Your parents didn’t like it?” Jaejoong was coughing again, his knuckles turning white, gripping the blankets so tightly. He was in pain, you could tell, and this wasn’t supposed to be happening so soon. Maybe it’ll be less than three months.

“No—this sounds silly, but it was for my first love. Chasing down dream butterflies during daylight, you know?” Jaejoong was now laughing and coughing at the same time. It didn’t work very well, as he ended up doubling over in pain, but soon his coughing cleared.

“It’s not silly. I’m exactly the same, after all.” His eyes were distant again, and you couldn’t tell whether or not he was even listening anymore. His voice didn’t sound bitter—not at all, he sounded like he was reminiscing good times and wasn’t bothered by the thought at all. “But people have reasons; they all have their own paths. We’re just lucky to have their roads intersect ours.” You had to leave afterwards, but his words echoed in your head all day long.

“People have reasons.” You had one too.

•••

You two grew closer every day, Jaejoong showed more emotions, felt more comfortable with each passing second. His pale skin was still a chalky white color, but the pink tint no longer seemed feverish, it glowed beautifully.

You spent your lunch breaks with him when you had the chance. He appreciated it. This time, however, he was asleep. He seemed tired, even more so than usual. A basket of flowers laid on the table besides him, fresh lilies and marigolds decorated the vase accordingly. It wasn’t the typical flower arrangement family members gave to their loved ones, but it wasn’t that of a friend or a lover, either. Three years in this field gave you time to memorize the many different patterns of flower bouquets.

A small, white envelope was parched on the clear vase—this wasn’t the plastic ones the hospital provided, it was glass and had intricate designs littering the ups and downs of it.

Jaejoong was all it said. There was no sender, but judging by the neat, yet rushed handwriting, it was definitely from a male. Jaejoong stirred as he heard your heels clicking on the tile floor, but never woke. He was in deep sleep, resting peacefully after what seemed like years without it.

His face was flushed with a red you’ve never seen before, his expression both tensed and relaxed. He looked like your little brother, the more you look at him, the more resemblances you found. “Tell me,” you began, sitting down on the plastic chair next to his bed. “What sort of luck do you have to be tumbling down a one way street with another car heading straight towards you?” You didn’t know what that could’ve meant—for a moment, you had wondered if it was your voice at all. But it was, the clear, familiar tone was definitely yours, and you had wondered when you had become so thoughtful.

You sighed, and again, you didn’t seem to know it was your own sigh. What was going on today? It had been fine, fine until you saw the flowers, fine until you saw Jaejoong’s flushed face. But now, it wasn’t fine, it was bothersome. It was worrisome, too. Who could it be? Could it have been this lover Jaejoong had mentioned—no, praised? But it wasn’t…at least, it doesn’t seem like it. You wanted to rouse Jaejoong, ask him who visited him, but then you realized he probably wasn’t awake. He hadn’t been awake when you left, so he couldn’t have fallen back asleep so easily.

A faint sound of footsteps hesitantly crossed before the doorway, before it thudded heavily down the hallway, as if running away. It was then, you realized, that the flowers seemed to be dancing, swaying back and forth, and singing a silent song of romance. Chasing figureless butterflies, you remember your mother saying this. Figureless butterflies, this was your mother’s code for nonsense. Figureless butterflies are exactly what you’re seeing now. What a distance you have created from reality, what a terrible mistake you’ve made.

Chasing your first love had been fruitless; chasing your second won’t be eventful, either. Not when he’s about to die in three months and has a lover. He has never given you a chance, he has hinted no interest, and all the while he proclaimed his love for this person who you assumed to be a figureless butterfly as well. All the thinking made your head spin; you coughed uncomfortably, succeeding in rousing Jaejoong. It was a loud cough—louder than you had noticed it to be. You hadn’t noticed then, but the milk had spilled and there was no handy-dandy paper that could soak up the tears you cried. It was your last cup of milk, and time wasn’t going to rewind to mend the broken glass shards stuck in your palm.

Then you remembered him, remembered his unusual laughter, his habit of playing with your hair—him in general. You should have realized it wasn’t love—no, you didn’t love Jaejoong, but the more you spent time with Jaejoong, he resembled not your brother, but him as well. It could’ve been buck fever, but it wasn’t, because it wasn’t hunting season nor was there a gun to fire. Just your heart and the open wounds went over with salt once too many.

But above all, you thought you deserved it. And perhaps you did.

“Hey,” Jaejoong’s hoarse voice caught your attention, succeeding in bringing you back down into reality. When had I become so thoughtful? When had you? “Can I have some water?” You got up off your suddenly cold chair, hands shaking as you searched for the cups. The Styrofoam cup feeling odd and disoriented in your shaky palm. Slowly, you lifted up the water jug to fill it with, spilling water everywhere on the sink counter. Your eyes blinked rapidly, more so than usual.

“Here,” you somehow had walked back without tripping and spilling water everywhere. You handed Jaejoong the cup, lifting it to his lips. He drank without asking why, because his hands were still usable, though not for long.

“Thanks.” He didn’t look so pale anymore, the red tint gone from his cheeks, they looked normal now, he looked normal now. And that was all the reassurance you needed, because you didn’t love him, it was just fever feelings, fever feelings, you repeated. Fever feelings—nothing more, nothing less, not any more important than the rest, it was natural. You had to tell yourself you weren’t losing it—that you weren’t finally cracking. Because how many more patients can you tell? How many more lives do you have to disappoint? How many more tears does it take to erode away your barrier—the façade you so cleverly put up? Not many—not many at all.

You didn’t respond to him, he didn’t ask, and you were thankful for that. No questions—no answers, no lies. Of course, Jaejoong saw the flowers and the envelope, and his breathing started to hitch as he recognized the handwriting, but in your fit of hysteria, you had forgotten about the mysterious envelope.

“Are you okay?” He finally asked, though his voice was just as shaky as yours.

“Peachy,” you responded, hands pressing against your sweat soaked forehead. “But I think I’ll be even peachier outside. See you in a while.” And you almost ran out of the room—almost. You couldn’t because…well, you just couldn’t run in front of Jaejoong. He would misunderstand, you somehow knew he would. Besides, you really had to leave. Though you weren’t heading to where you were supposed to, outside was much more important than meetings. Much more important—not for every case, but for this one, it was very important to be outside.

Once you stepped out, breathed in a lungful of fresh June air, you smiled again. You seemed to have exhale out all the confusion and inhale in calmness. Your head wasn’t jumbled up with thoughts of pathetic love nor of his laughter, no longer feeling haunted, no longer shaking with fear. And you know you don’t love Jaejoong. You didn’t notice the stranger brushing pass you—bumping shoulder to shoulder with you as he existed. He didn’t see your face, you didn’t see his. All you know was that you were glad the fresh air cleared your head of silly thoughts of Jaejoong being your second love. Glad you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of crying in front of the lot of people. You were glad, not happy—just glad.

•••

Inside, Jaejoong was reaching for the envelope, breaths evening out as he saw the white lilies—his lover’s favorite flower. And there were marigolds, his favorite flower. And his head wasn’t processing things correctly. He tore the envelope open, pulling out the sheet of white paper. It was just plain white paper, copy paper. But there was something about it—something that made Jaejoong knew who it was from.

Jae,

I still love you. But don’t worry—I’m not leaving. Not again. Just tell me you’ve waited…because I have, and I don’t want to see somebody else with you. I’m back again. I’ll come back around. I promise.

That was the last thing his lover had said to him—I promise.

Jaejoong wanted to laugh, Jae, the name was so affectionate, so affectionate. He felt like he was going to suffocate, he was dying to see his lover again. Friends—they had been friends, but they were more than friends at some point. Then they had been friends again—a stupid mistake. And now they’re not even together anymore, all because of one silly mistake. “I promise,” that’s what they all say, that’s why he keeps coming back for more.

And he thought he had had enough of it. But apparently not—apparently it was real love. And damn, real love hurts.

“Hey,” he calls out to himself, not knowing why he does so. “I think I should just die already.” And he goes back to sleep somehow, his cheeks an unhealthy pink again—it contrasted so greatly with his almost gray skin. He laughs—one of those loud and extremely forced laughs, but it was a laugh that came straight from his heart. Oh, how real love . This only further proved that his heart was artificial.

You walked in later—a long while later, after you attended your meeting. He was asleep again, though he wasn’t lying down. The letter was gripped in his hands—not tightly, he was just holding it. He looked really unhealthy; he was unhealthy, but he hadn’t looked as awful before. But now, it was evident, the traces of death clear on his youthful face, his eyes no longer sparkly, though they were closed, you could tell they no longer had any meaning behind them. Jaejoong finally realized he was going to die—you’ve seen this before. Patients often avoid the subject of death, as if not believing in it would somehow prevent it. It didn’t. And during the time of denying their doom, they either realize, “I’m ed,” or go completely loony. Jaejoong showed no sign of rejection, but you couldn’t be sure of whether he was happy or not. He seemed to only now realize he was on his deathbed, and that if he sleeps, he’ll eventually never wake up. Some patients have gone as far as refusing to sleep—saying that if they close their eyes, they’ll never wake again.

It was delusional fear, but it was humanly fears. But what were humanly fears, anyway? Was it death? Death is the reason behind life—because without death, there wouldn’t be eternity, there would be just life and forever tied together into a horribly wrapped Christmas present.

It was a weak attempt, a fairly idiotic attempt, too. Denying death is denying life, and denial, in general, never leads anywhere good.

There you go again…thinking like a philosopher. Is that what you would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped down this road? Don’t kid yourself, don’t joke. It’s not funny. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.

Shoot and kill, blind by darkness, fumble around in a sea of red blood. What other words would describe this feeling? This feeling of having enough…was it even worth it to feel?

“You don’t realize this,” again, you spoke to Jaejoong. He wasn’t listening, and maybe that’s the reason you feel so comfortable with saying this. “But you’re lucky. You loved, and that lover of yours loved you back. Keep chasing butterflies, keep chasing real butterflies.” You left, not before brushing the hair off Jaejoong’s pale face, heels clicking away on the white tiles, laughing softly. “Real butterflies,” you repeated just for the heck of it. Just for the self-reassurance that somewhere, real butterflies floated in the summer sky. It was somewhere, not here, but somewhere.

Author's Note-

Thank you for reading my very first chapter. Are you confused? Because I am... I have no idea where this story is going, it's not complete and I don't think updates are going to be regular at all. I'm sorry... I'm bad with due dates and dates in general. Forgive me^^.

Anyhow, I hope you will enjoy the very short and plotless story.

On a side note...OMG INFINITE H'S TEASER. I SHIP HOYA+PURPLE OKAY. OKAY. i'm sorry for my...everything.