||I can fly when I dream.||

Sometimes, the night sky was bright, sometimes, the mid-day sun was hidden. But that was only sometimes, when clouds cover your heart, it happens every time.

This could be your nonsensical rambling—you’ve been doing that a lot lately, because you felt like you’re going to explode with fear. Or maybe it’s the fear combining with the fact that you’ve had enough. Had enough of what? You didn’t know that. But you know you’re getting tired, tired of something. Maybe it’s your job—maybe, or maybe it’s just Jaejoong. He seems so weak—so tired—so disappointed. And you couldn’t help but feel bad for him and for all the other people who has to die so soon. Or perhaps it was something else…something you’ve been avoiding for too long.

But the world was a cruel place, as it is also beautiful. What lies within it depends on you, whether the hues you see are dark and light or black and white or nothing at all. It just depends on you and how you feel about life. Sadly, you aren’t very attached to it.

You got off work at eight PM; you come in at nine in the morning. It’s a long shift, but you get paid a lot, or well, more than you need. You just sigh and head straight home—not visiting town tonight. It’s just you and your cozy, familiar apartment, where the world can’t get to you and play with your mind. You eat a small meal, shower, and head straight to bed. You take your allergy pills and you start to feel the dizziness set in, the drowsiness claiming your mind. You don’t have severe allergies, but the medicine helps you sleep, and sleep is what you needed most.

After downing the pill with a glass of cold water, you let your head fall onto your pillow, sighing as the softness of your blanket wrapped around your shivering body. It was cold in your apartment—not actual coldness, but the empty feeling of being alone. For a minute, you thought about how lonely it was, and then you let sleep override all other emotions, letting yourself fall. The darkness slowly ate at your body until your surroundings were no more than rooms and walls and blank spaces.

•••

Jaejoong knew. He knew a lot of things, things he shouldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t, maybe it was his mind making up illusions and delusions.

Of course, there was not much a person could do to find out whether they’re right or wrong. But Jaejoong knew, he knew a lot of things. Things that was sometimes morbid, sometimes important, sometimes not.

A long list of things, to be honest—such as how his mom had once had an affair with a man he didn’t know. That was important—but it never surprised him that his mother divorced his father and abandoned the two of them. He was spiteful, vengeful, bitter, but never, ever, has he hated her. There were a lot of things he didn’t know, too. Things as, what caused his father to jump off the building, why his mother left him, why his lover left him. But the last one—he may know the answer. Or maybe he didn’t. There were a lot of what if’s in his life. Maybe’s, what if’s, no’s, and promises. Yes, a lot of those, a lot of them. Promises that where either half assed or broken or maybe they were never promised. A lot of them—more than you can think of. His life was one huge wishy-washy promise, anyway.

When I die, who would attend my funeral? He had been lying in bed, thinking about it all night long. It wasn’t even if anymore, just when. When? When would it be the time for him to perish—for him to no longer exist, for the promise to finally be broken?

He thought you would attend—definitely you. You were one of his friends, perhaps even closer than his friends. He admired you for dealing with this job, this job of telling people death is near and the bells on the gates of hell are chiming.

Perhaps his lover, but then again, his lover probably doesn’t know he’s going to die. “I promise,” he was whispering, his breath quiet but quick, “Don’t kid yourself.” And maybe it was then that he realized it was too late for him to be up, thinking about his nearing death.

Asleep—go to sleep. With those words repeated over and over, for at least twenty times, he fell. The darkness is coming.

•••

They were going to be doing it again—they were talking again. His mother came to see him. The hospital had somehow contacted her. She brought his lover with her, and they think he’s asleep. He’s not; he hears what they’re saying. “Poor baby boy, I missed him so much.” Liar, you weren’t there long enough to miss me.

“I know, Mrs. Kim, I know. I miss him too.” Look at the two people who abandoned me talk about how much they missed me. Jaejoong heard footsteps gliding on the white tiled floor, stepping closer to him, and somehow his muscles tensed because of the clickity-clack of the heeled feet.

“Poor, poor boy,” I’m not a child anymore. I’m no boy.

“Ma’am, he’s going to be fine.” I’m not.

“He’s not.” Jaejoong heard your voice and his shoulders relaxed, but tensed right back up as the person who claims to be his mother his head gently—her smooth hand feeling uncomfortable and unfamiliar against his hot forehead. They were too cold, as if she were dead. He was going to die soon…would he feel like that too?

There was not much else he could do but shut his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening. But it was, and he knew he’ll remember it. He always remembers things when he doesn’t want to.

“And who are you?” His mother’s voice was high toned, very velvety and almost too smooth to be human. You rolled your eyes slightly, but it wasn’t as obvious as you thought it had been.

“I’m Jaejoong’s doctor.” Jaejoong’s mother’s eyes narrowed as you forgot to add any tone of formality in your sentence prior.

“And I’m his mother. What’s the point? My son will live, he’s stronger than that.” At this point, Jaejoong’s fists were balled and shaking, not that anyone noticed. His lover noticed, however. His mother was someone he couldn’t stand—how dare she act like she knew everything about him when she left him, left him alone and never looked back when he cried out to her?

“You don’t understand,” his mother rudely cut you off.

“I do. I know everything well enough, so you can’t trick me with your technicalities and educated speech.” Jaejoong had enough with his mother, his eyes shot open and the first thing that burst out of his mouth was something he never regretted.

“Says the person who left me to die,” tears were streaming down his face, whether they were tears of furry or tears of hysteria, he didn’t know. “I will never call you my mother—never, ever! So don’t you dare prance back in my life and tell me everything’s fine and dandy, because it’s not. I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying!” Whether he was trying to convince his mother or himself, he didn’t know, but when he saw his lover’s face, he couldn’t hold back the screams and the shouts anymore. Two people left, two times too many.

“Jaejoong! What is this?” His mother sounded appalled, but she had no rights. No rights at all! She was stunned to say the least, shocked by Jaejoong’s sudden outburst. Was this the boy she raised? Was he the boy who always smiled and showed off his colorful artwork proudly, although they were nothing but mere crayon streaks? Was it really him? “Yunho, will you talk some sense into my son.” Perhaps—things have changed, she knew this. She just wished she could explain, but she knew she couldn’t convince him otherwise. Reasons—there are always reasons to life.

“I’m afraid he’s already spoken for himself, Mrs. Kim.” Yunho, who had only spoken up now, smiled sweetly at Jaejoong. It sickened Jaejoong, but also relieved him. He didn’t change…his smile didn’t change.

“Please leave, you are disturbing the patient,” this you said with a satisfactory smile. She got on your nerves, even without doing anything except for her high tone and attitude. She made Jaejoong hurt, which was much worse than anything else. But there was a glow in her eyes—behind the rage and the shock, there was a longing, a soft glow, that of a mother who is missing her child. You felt sorry for her for a moment, but she turned her nose up high and faced you. You didn’t feel sorry anymore, not with her tone and attitude.

“I’m his mother!” She felt the need to brag it in everyone’s face. Yes, she gave birth to Jaejoong, but she abandoned him as well. She scarred him, she was the person he needed most, but she left him first. She had no rights to act as and call herself his mother.

“You’re not.” Yunho confirmed, and bowed respectfully before driving her out of the room. “I’ll come back later, when he’s calmed.” Yunho nodded to Jaejoong and said this to you before he left. You paid no mind to him and went to work with Jaejoong. What a way to start a morning. You laughed at your own joke. It was only nine-thirty and there’s already family affairs going on.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” The worst thing a person could do when someone is in hysteria is ask what’s wrong. It’s just asking them to remember what is wrong—asking them to verbally confirm their horror, asking them to please prove the past chain of events happened by telling us their account of it. The answer will never be true.

Nothing will most likely be that person’s response—because nothing happened, nothing did happen at all. No horrors to be told, although they’ll have nightmares after nightmares about it—the feeling of crying. No, they won’t ever forget, they don’t have answers. They’ll remember it, like it’s a scar running up their face, and every time they look in a mirror, they’ll see it. They’ll see the ugly truth, the disappointing and tauntingly real truth. But they don’t want to remember, so it’s never okay to ask, what’s wrong. They don’t have answers to give, they can’t think straight, and they’ll remember, no matter what you do. Asking them if it is okay is like telling them it’s real, that it’s happening, and that they’ll never be able to forget it, and everyone will know it happened so they can’t smile and act as if nothing’s wrong. In fact, they won’t be able to smile at all.

“No.” And that was the answer—yes’s and no’s are all a crying person can give. Because if they think about it hard enough—they usually do—they can act as if nothing happened, but yes’s and no’s mean nothing to them. Yes’s and no’s are everyday life, is the answer to life, and will never mean something more than yes and no. They won’t remember—they’ll forget, or act as if they’ve forgotten. But they never do, it’s a scar they’ll carry for the rest of their life, and as their skin stretch, it will no longer be on their face, but on their neck, where they can’t see it. But it’s there, and that’s the scary thing. If they lift up their head, they’ll see the ugly thing trailing down their neck. They’ll remember, regardless, but they can act as if it’s not there. And that’s even scarier.

You sat down like he asked you to, and smiled. You smiled big enough for the both of them, and patted his back slowly. His body shook with a tremor you’ve never seen before. He looks even unhealthier, even sicklier, with his gray skin and bright pink cheeks. He was looking like a corpse, and in three months’ worth of time, he will. He’ll turn blue and with the feverish feeling of death overcoming life, taking reign of his cold, soulless body, he’ll fall and take a turn down memory lane to forever White.

White, it’s the kingdom that’s neither heaven nor hell, nor a waiting room. It’s a hospital for those poor lost souls with nowhere to go neither heaven nor hell wanting to open their gates to nourish these sick people. The White holds them, mends their wounds, and then kills them off again. This time for good, and they’ll never see daylight or the dreamy white clouds they always wanted to float open. It’s just poof—and then they’re gone. The White isn’t as generous as you’d like to think, because it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. It’s an establishment, and business people don’t have hearts. That’s the truth, the scary truth. White is but a makeup of companies and several chains of stores scattered across Seoul, Tokyo, L.A, and all those capital cities. It collects souls, pretends to care, erases all the pain, and kills them mercilessly. It was as simple as that.

“Shush, it’s okay.” It wasn’t.

Jaejoong was sobbing ever so loudly, and the feeling of your stomach coiling into a little ball started up again. Fresh air—where was it? It wasn’t here; the room felt stuffy, unbearably stuffy. It almost hurts, because it does, but it’s stuffy and nobody wants it to be.

“Should I open a window?” You asked. Jaejoong might not like the idea—he might be cold, but the morning June air was tempting you and you could’ve got up without asking and opened it.

“Why? Should I jump out and not wait for the painful death?” No, that’s a one way ticket to hell. Jaejoong seemed to have calmed and he wasn’t sobbing as loudly, but he wouldn’t shush with the random, breathy gasps for air. “No—I’ll go to hell that way. But maybe it’s better than White…” You two exchanged a knowing look and smiled. Because White or not—you weren’t going to go there. Hell it was and hell it has been. Always was, no use trying to make amends and changing it now, no chances either. White may be painless, but knowing that your soul will no longer exist—it makes hell seem like heaven.

“Let’s get a move on it.”

“Right on, captain,”

You two had no idea what you were saying, but it seemed like a good thing to say at that time. It wasn’t.

•••

“Has he stopped?” You looked up from your seat and stared at the man. He was wearing expensive attire—the type of clothes you see in catalogs at department stores. Jaejoong, who has stopped, refused to look up. He recognized the man even before he stepped in the room—Jaejoong knew his steps too well, he couldn’t forget so easily.

“Why?” You whipped your head around, remembering Jaejoong was still in the room, and not asleep. He was awfully quiet, that was, until he spoke.

“BooJae…” the nickname spelt intimacy, and you felt like you had no rights to speak in the middle of this.

“I…why,” he couldn’t get his words through. “Just answer me…why?”

“I left for a reason and I returned for a reason.” Things clicked in your brain and now you had labeled this Yunho figure as Jaejoong’s lover.

“What reason?” You had never heard Jaejoong’s voice so weak, so fragile—not even when he stood the pain of four needles poking at him, injecting him with treatment medicine that only proved to be useless. Cancer—such a bitter sounding and tasting word.

“You,” and the man walked closer and you thought Jaejoong was going to break into another fit. But he didn’t, he just blankly stared at the man as he approached the bed, arms stretched and willingly hugging Jaejoong.

“You…me,” the conclusion was as simple as that, and it felt like you were intruding, unwelcomed, and so you left quietly without the lovers noticing as they embraced. It was as if they were in their own world, and again, you had to step outside. June air, fresh as it always had been, breaking in giant wisps of feathered air.

Again, you hadn’t noticed the man cloaked in a black overcoat—too heavy for this season, brushing against you as he hurriedly escaped the building. This time, however, you did see his retreating back and thought it was familiar. You paid no mind to him and left it at that. Simple times were over; complications had started after the innocence of youth faded into nothing more than glorious locations when you ride your boat down memory lane. Or had it been a car or bike? There were no contraptions like that in the olden days, so boat it has been and always will. Well, for you at least, because you enjoyed vintage. Vintage is an old, dying tradition of arts. Spending time with Jaejoong has really changed you—his “artsy-ness”, as you had called it, has affected you.

Whistling to some upbeat song, you stepped back inside, mind blank of all things good and bad, and you set yourself on autopilot with a cup of instant coffee. Life was hard—really hard.

“Life is so hard, too hard. I don’t want to think—don’t wanna, don’t wanna.” You weren’t whistling anymore—you were singing, and the smell of disinfectant got to your head for the first time. It was so stale, so plain, so plastic and fake. But then again, what’s real anymore? Certainly not those idols’ faces, no those are faker than the cheap Gucci imitation they sell out in the open air market.

Your life was just a merry-go-round. Round and round the horsy went, round and round and up and down.

Never stopping for more than five minute breaks then comes down the great bright lights; waiting again for day to break. And round and round and up and down—those were the moments of their electrons turning in and in but never out.

“I think I should become a poet.” You only laugh and shake your head—captain, no, not captain. Just you, plain old you, who was chasing down figureless butterflies so happily and naively. Stupid, old, little you with nothing but a head full of him to grasp reality.

The routine started again—up and down, round and round. You headed back to work, happy because you had nothing on your mind—autopilot at its full potential, done with today and dreaming about tomorrow.

Honestly, who could, and who wouldn’t? That’s the question.

That’s always the question.

Author's Note-

Hello! Welcome to another chapter that doesn't make sense. I hope you're enjoying it because I have no idea where this is headed and you might not be enjoying it soon. I have five and two fifths chapter written and I don't see it ending any time soon. I apologize for my lack of updating skills because I don't like schedules, they make me feel uncomfortable. So you'll just get random chapters at random times and hopefully it'll get better. Or not. I don't know.

Did I mention this story is basically heading no where as of now? Yes? why did i even make this. it's so confusing. i made it and i don't understand it.

Anyway, thanks for reading! :)