||Your heart says yes and your brain says no. Sometimes, it's maybe.||

Monday morning…those weren’t fun. Especially since Jongin is drunk and passed out on your couch and you have something akin to a hangover, but you didn’t drink anything yesterday. The smell of alcohol disgusted you, and you know that even ten cans of Febreeze aren’t going to get rid of the smell.

“Wake up, you lazy old man,” you were heading to the bathroom and you decided it would be helpful if he were awake by the time you got out. You went over to the couch and kicked him once or twice—he didn’t budge. “Be like that and you’ll be single forever.” You were laughing because both of you knew he wasn’t going to be single forever. Some dumb damsel is going to fall for his knightly looks and boom, she either sticks with him or she doesn’t. It’s never really his choice. It was the girl he’s with at the moment who always choses. Deal with it and his good looks will pay, or dump and look for someone worthwhile. Maybe if you would’ve met him later in life, you would have been one of those stupid damsels, but you know better. No, that’s the answer, because you weren’t meant for each other and it’s just not going to be fair if two young ones die together, looking oh-so-perfect. No.

“Shut up,” Jongin mumbled into the couch cushion, knowing him, he’s probably having the worst hangover of his life right about now.

You just ignored him and continued on your way to the bathroom. “Breakfast’s in twenty, if you don’t wake up by then, you’re not eating.” Perhaps, again it’s only perhaps, they would’ve looked good together, but no. You knew he wanted to live a life time with someone, not just one or two more years with that person. He dies later than you, you know that. No. 

 It’s only perhaps, not even maybe, so you knew it was out of the picture.

“He’s a soloist,” you heard the television say. Someone must’ve forgotten to turn it off last night, or maybe even the night before. You didn’t know, but you know your roommate was rarely home. She had a life, a good one, and she didn’t care for you. “And he’s my dream.” It was another one of those stupid music programs—idols with plastic faces selling cheap images and poor entertainment. They had no depths in their personality besides so-and-so is perfectly happy and bubbly 24/7 or so-and-so is a bad boy. Sure, that’s exactly how life works, you humored.

“Isn’t that a bit of a big hint? Aren’t your fans going to get mad over this?” What fans, you asked. Certainly not those rabid teenagers who worship the ground idols walk on—no, those are just delusional dreamers. After a few years of being an adult, you realized dreams weren’t exactly what childhood innocence had conjured it to be. The definition to dreaming in adulthood was neither wonderful nor beautiful, but delusional. Saying they’re delusional dreamers is quite repetitive if you’re using adult language, but it doesn’t subtract to the image they’ve created for themselves. Thoughtless and screamers, Lord bless these poor souls.

“Well,” here come more dreams, “I’m sure my fans are okay with me dating. After all, I am an adult now.” You’re no adult; you’re a child who dreams are too big for your head. No, no, no, no, no!

You scoffed and quickly brushed your teeth. Time to turn off the T.V. filled with plastic and bull.

“I’m telling you this is the last time I’m calling you. Wake up,” you kicked Jongin as you walked by, not bothered by his groan.

“Ray, go easy on me!” You quickly turned off the T.V., tired of the nonsense they’re going on about, ready to scramble eggs. You had no energy to make a grand breakfast, like you normally did. Oh well, rice soup and eggs should help with the massive hangover Jongin is having.

You heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. You had always preferred wood floors, mainly because the white hospital tiles got to you after a while. Everything is so white and there’s no splash of color besides occasional greenery that are generally fake. “Ugh, worst headache, ever!” Even in the morning he was loud—even as he had a headache, he was loud. Jongin felt the need to wrap his arms around you as you cooked, and this may look like a couple-y thing to do, but it wasn’t. No.

You had to remind yourself no, because sometimes, Jongin was very close to getting you to say yes.

“You know, I’m still waiting for an answer,” he says quietly, head resting on your shoulder. He was hindering you from cooking, but you didn’t have the heart to push him away, like you normally did. Your resistance was wearing thin, it seems.

“Says the man who dates freely when he’s still waiting for that answer,” you couldn’t think of a better retort, you had no answer besides yes, but you couldn’t say it. No, no, no, remember, no. You wouldn’t have the heart to say no, though, so you kept him waiting.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Jongin said, and perhaps you hated this phrase more than “For the greater good”, because what’s fair and what’s the greater good of anything?

“You’re also an egghead.” You smiled as Jongin grumbled in protest, saying something similar to “My head is beautiful” or some other nonsense.

“So…is it a yes? I can’t wait another four years, you know. You kept me for four years, do you, by any chance, plan on making me wait longer? Do you like the number five or something? Dear Lord, your favorite number is nine. I’m going to spoil rotten waiting for you.”

You weren’t particularly listening to him; you never really listen for more than five minutes when he starts to ramble. But it was okay—he did this to you too.

“Yeah…” You just nodded along with whatever he said, mind drifting to a place elsewhere—a place with a lot less difficulties.

“So is it a yes?” No. It’s never a yes and never will be.

“Yes,” what came out of your mouth was a shock to the both of you. You didn’t know what overcame you, but the fear was settling in already. Commitment is such a scary word.

“Really?”

“Yes.” No. You should have known better, it’s always no—that’s what your brain is telling you. But your heart begs to differ, because love was there, second love. Strong and beautiful and scary, but that’s just the reality of it all.

“I,” don’t know what to say. Your mind went blank—maybe because Jongin was kissing you, or maybe because you just said yes, but the fear couldn’t over power the sense of happiness you felt. What is this? A new, foreign pitter-patter in your chest rose in volume. You realized it’s always been there, always has, but you’ve just never realized it.

There are some people who believed that love was flawless, that words couldn’t describe its perfection. But there are others who believe that love was anything but perfect, and that words only sounded pleasing to the ear, but were hard on the heart. Whatever it may be, love was there, ever-so-present, and it scares you completely. You were hopelessly and utterly stunned, but somewhere in the back of your brain—no, it wasn’t your brain thinking anymore, but rather your heart—you found the urge to kiss Jongin back. And you did. Some years from now, you’ll either regret this decision with all your heart or think of it as the best choice you’ve ever made. Either way, with Jongin hugging you and your lips pressed against each other’s, it doesn’t really matter.

•••

Jaejoong looked at you—your face was baring a smile that was all too bright for a gloomy, humid afternoon. “Good afternoon.” You greeted, smile only getting wider. Jaejoong couldn’t help himself as his lips twitched into a smile.

“Hey,” his voice was coarse—he’s been crying again. The swelling under his eyes had gone down considerably since this morning.

“What’s wrong?” You wouldn’t usually ask—it was none of your business, but you found yourself asking anyway.

“Stuff…feelings; you know how stupid those are at times.” Jaejoong let himself laugh; it was a real laugh, but weak and ill sounding.

“I just got done dealing with mines, yes, I do know.” You could feel sympathy—sympathy was a feeling often unwanted, but it’s real, and realness was rare and pity was a lot better than fake happiness.

“Well, I hope it was better than how this turned out.” Jaejoong found himself telling you. You: a stranger—was it because you weren’t involved in this situation? Was it because you had absolutely no clue about his past—about him as a person? He was a patient, you were his doctor, and he liked your company.

“Do you need someone to talk to?” It was a suggestion, a timid question. You had often felt the need to talk to someone, but there was no one in your life besides Jongin, and you certainly couldn’t complain to him about himself.

“Yeah…I think I do.” There was such a long break in the middle of his sentence, you were almost scared he wouldn’t continue or change his mind. Something compelled you to sit next to him and listen to him. You were the stranger, he was the story teller. Or, well, you thought he was the narrator.  Sometimes, you couldn’t tell if he was talking about himself or someone else.

“There was a time when we were together…happily.” His voice was rather soft, velvety almost. But it wasn’t because of the dryness in it, the tone was all wrong too. “Those were the good times in our relationship. We met in college.

“Things weren’t easy…he was ready to graduate by the time we got to know each other well enough. He wanted to go to America to start his own business, you know. But he didn’t—he stayed, just for me. I don’t know what happened, but he left just for me too. Or so he tells me.

“You won’t be able to know the full story—it’s a two person story, and only one person is telling it. I hope you don’t mind me leaving out a bunch of stuff, because I don’t know it.” He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. You liked his smiles, his eyes are pretty, so glossy and big when he did. “Ray…I think I need some water.” You went to get him water, and he continued to tell you about his story. Whatever his story was, it sounded depressing.

“That phrase you used when we were talking…what was it? It was butterflies…something about chasing butterflies, yes.” Figureless butterflies—things that weren’t actually there. Delusions…dreams.

“Figureless butterflies. Dreams mingling with reality, like trying to get a hold of water.” Jaejoong laughed, and you handed him a cup of water. He drank and continued.

“Figureless butterflies are exactly what I chased after, him, Yunho…” he was looking out the window, a smile faintly present on his pale lips. “…and I was scared of it. Scared of the butterfly, yet I kept running after it, hoping to look at its pretty wings up close.”

Things didn’t really make sense in the realm of storytelling, you knew from personal experience.

“Yunho and I dated for a long time, two years after him graduating college. I studied Graphic Designing and Basic Arts, graduated in four years, like a lot of other kids. We kept meeting for a month or so after that. Then he left—like a mirage, he disappeared. I was disappointed—no, I was beyond disappointed, I was upset. And how much more selfish can I be? I was upset, of all things and emotions, I was disappointed and upset.” You would’ve normally tuned out if it were Jongin, but it wasn’t Jongin, it was Jaejoong, and there’s no difference between them except for the fact that Jaejoong and you were going to die young. Jongin was going to drink himself to death, yes, but he would accomplish a lot by that time. You and Jaejoong wouldn’t. The feeling of suffocating came again, but you didn’t zone out, you listened, because his story was so much like yours. But his would end sooner, would end abruptly and he never got to experience what you had felt this morning.

“I know the feeling.” You whispered quietly, letting him sit in silence for a while. He looked torn on whether he should continue or not. Jaejoong let out a sigh, and he did continue.

“He never told me why, but he said it was for me. And yesterday, before he left, he said one of the strangest things ever. It was so unlike him—he never shows emotions. It was out of character, it felt strange, different, and unfamiliar and I didn’t like it. He sounded…sorry.”

Jaejoong remembered Yunho’s words clearly. “I’m here…don’t leave without telling me everything—I won’t let you.” What a strange thing to say…what a strange thing.

“And why was he sorry? I should be sorry…sorry for being too big of a coward and not telling him I love him—I love him!” Why? Jaejoong didn’t know his voice shook with the pure surge of emotion he felt. Love…he loved Yunho. What was it? What is this?

“But you can’t…it’s hard. Commitment is hard.” You finished his story with your own words.

“Ray—I love him…I love him.”

“We’re all scared of commitment, all of us are. This has no connection as to what we’re talking about, but do you know why my name is Ray?” Jaejoong didn’t answer. “My mom named me that because she wanted me to be a ray of light, isn’t that noble?” Jaejoong laughed—not for any particular reason, he just did. “But I’m not…I’m telling people they’re going to die soon, what kind of shining light am I?” Jaejoong only laugh louder. You chuckled along. “But that’s alright. I’m not a very bright light; I’m just single beam of light, not even LED. But I’m natural, you know?”

“Yeah…I guess I’m just a dying bulb of light, too.” It wasn’t a joke, but it was just as funny as one. It was funny because it was true. Sometimes, humor relieves a breaking heart, but never a dying one.

“You love him, tell him. I made the mistake of keeping my mouth shut for four years, and now I regret it. I can’t predict the future, but I enjoy what little I have right at this moment. I like my job, believe it or not, though telling people they’ll die isn’t fun. It’s sometimes…relaxing, you can say. I’m not good with my words, but I question myself a lot, but the present is reality, and life’s what you make of it. Live with no regret—tell him.” You could have easily brushed him off and said it wasn’t any of your business. But it was your business, in a sense. As his doctor, you want to see him relaxed and ready to die. It may sound weird, and it is, but Jaejoong’s smiles are what the world need. His smiles are precious, a dying man’s smiles are very important. Not to you, or to anyone besides himself and his loved ones. Life has a reason for things, though it comes out awkward and indirect and confusing, it has its reasons. Good or bad, good or bad. That’s how things work in this world. Pandora has been opened; the good has found its way back to the box and has been sealed. The bad, however, is still rolling in waves and corrupting human minds—life is what you make of it. Pandora would be an easy way to lie, to shove the blame onto someone else’s shoulder. But it’ll never erase the mistake. The mistake is wedged deep in you—you are the mistake. Not in a sense that you’re wrong, that you weren’t meant to live, but the fact that you’re here and you’re living, breathing, lying, means mistakes are driven in folds within you.

It’s only temporary. Life is only temporary for you and for all the humans living. Immortality, believe it or not, is a form of punishment. Living may be a reward for some, but to others, it’s a nightmare. Life is what you make of it. True, but life has its own force, drives in its own lane, knows how to steer the fifth wheel—the imaginary, fake, but ever-so-real fifth wheel. It’s the wheel of life, the wheel of fortune, the wheel of death, rolling and renewing, taking power from the River Styx, running on cold blood.

Immortality isn’t enjoyable, but an almost dead man’s smiles are rare and precious. Smile while life is still taking pictures, because after the credit rolls, it’s goodbye old black and white film, hello White.

“I…can’t.” And the dead man has spoken.

It wasn’t easy to love, after all. Commitment is a form of signing contracts, of promising, and promises are the scariest thing to have ever existed. Or the fact of failing to live up to expectations and fulfill promises—maybe that’s worse.

Back and forth, back and forth—a swing running with the wind blowing behind it is keeping it swaying back and forth. Scary.

Author's Note

Lesbehonest...OMG CRUZ IS HILARIOUS. lolololol. I am not sane at all, if James thinks that, I think he lost a couple of screws in France. YOU BETTER READ THIS BY TOMORROW OR ELSE. OR ELSE. OR ELSE. I'll hit you with a flying bug. You're leaving tomorrow. /sadface

/optimisticface But on the brighter side of things, there'll be one less lonely girl in the school. /trollface But lesbehonest here, I got Cruz's phone number and I'll text it to you. <3

And for everyone else who has no idea what I'm talking about right now, the person who this story is dedicated to is leaving me tomorrow to suffer and wallow in the depths of despair while she parties without care at her new school. IT'S ALREADY THE THIRD QUARTER. WHY CAN'T YOU JUST STAY UNTIL WE GRADUATE? You're gonna miss so much, we're gonna do a bunch of stupid things now that you're gone, one of us is going to get pregnant *coughcoughcoughcoughyouknowwhoitiscough* and stuff.

But for everyone else (again), who has no idea what all of that was, ignore it. I'll have to thank you again for reading, even if you get tired of hearing it, I'm honestly thankful that you have taken time out of your day, busy or not, to read something I've put my soul into. Thank you!

This is probably the longest author's note so far. But I was talking with my friend the entire time I wrote this and I'm ignoring her, so it may be weird cause we're giggling our butts off. She's not helpful.

I LOVE YOU. EVERYONE OF YOU. *insert Woohyun gif.* this should show you how much I feel for you.

Now you can experience the greasy love for you.