“Because,” she said, “when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave.” 

― Neil Gaiman, Coraline

If you have ever applied for a job, you will be familiar with the feeling of walking into an interview, prepared and both terribly unprepared at the same time, with words in your mind, loaded and ready on the tip of your tongue. And you'll know that you'll go in, probably just once, and you'll say everything you need to say to convince the potential employer that you are the one they're looking for. Then it'll be over; then comes the wait.

But see, the way life works is that you don't get what you want ten times out of ten. It rains when you don't want it to, your hair decides not to listen to you every other day, and sometimes, you won't get that job that you were so prepared and terribly unprepared for.

That's how Luhan feels when he walks into the doctor's office and sees Doctor Seo wearing a face that looks like an email telling him that he didn't get the job.

"As you know, the test results for Taemin's sweat test came back," Doctor Seo tells Luhan, after a polite greeting, spouting the words with the kind of composure that one develops after years of med school and the same blank white walls. "The sweat we collected from Taemin had a chloride concentration of over sixty millimoles per litre, which is," she pauses and sighs, "abnormal; or, as you know it, 'positive'."

Positive. Luhan swallows. "Abnormal, as opposed to what?"

"Well, the normal chloride level of a child his age is anything less than forty millimoles per litre, and he is more than twenty millimoles over that," Doctor Seo says. "However,  I don't want to rush things here and send you into a flurry of unnecessary panic, so I am suggesting for Taemin to take the test again, to ensure that the first test wasn't an anomaly. Just to make sure everything's... okay," she adds.

Luhan looks down at Taemin, who sputters and coughs in his sleep, his brow furrowing. He looks back up at Doctor Seo. "Today?"

"Now is as good a time as any."

***

The test results come back the next day, Saturday− the day before Yoona is due to come home. Sooyoung cheerily informs Luhan of the news just after breakfast, and he makes his way to the clinic immediately, towing the twins in their stroller (both asleep, thank heavens) with his shirt inside out and his hair resembling a nest of curly hay.

Doctor Seo holds the door open for him and waits for him to settle himself in the chair opposite her desk, watching with patient eyes as he fusses over the twins' sleeping positions; even when he's done, he can't seem to stop glancing at the twins worriedly. Lately, Luhan has been paying extra attention to Jongin, too, wondering if he might have a problem as well, but so far, the younger twin hasn't shown any abnormal symptoms.

Taemin coughs, almost drowning out Doctor Seo as she says, with the same face she wore yesterday, "I'm sorry, Luhan."

Despite the noise Taemin is making, Luhan hears her perfectly. Last time, she didn't say sorry, but she's saying it now, and it tells him a thousand things that no other words could have told him− Doctor Seo is sorry. You're sorry when people die, or when you do something wrong−sometimes both. A sudden sinking feeling settles itself in Luhan's stomach. "For what?"

"There was no change," she tells him. "The results came back the same as the first time; over sixty millimoles." She clasps her hands together. "I said we would discuss Taemin's condition in depth only when we had a solid diagnosis, and now, we almost certainly do. I'm sorry," she says again, "to say that I'm diagnosing Taemin with cystic fibrosis."

A sound that's similar to waves crashing down too hard on too soft sand fills Luhan's ears; the same sound he'd heard when Yoona had told him she was pregnant. Except this is much worse. He glances at the twins in the stroller again, and runs a hand through his hair. "W-what...what is that? Cystic fibrosis?" It sounds vaguely familiar, but right now he can't think of anything but Taemin.

"It's a disease," Doctor Seo says, "that involves the secretory glands− the glands that produce mucus and sweat. It mainly affects the lungs and digestive system− severely so− and in Taemin's case, with his incessant coughing fits, I would say that his lungs are the most affected by the disease, although the fact that he isn't gaining weight as he should also indicates that it's affecting his digestive system."

"How?" Luhan can't help but ask, because nothing right now makes sense. A disease. Not a mere condition, but a disease.

"You're asking how his lungs are affected?"

Luhan swallows. "Yes."

"People with cystic fibrosis, or CF, produce thick and sticky mucus. A healthy person's mucus should be quite slippery and watery; it functions as a protection layer for certain organs against infections, and also provides moisture to prevent the organs from drying out. However," Doctor Seo says, "because people with CF have thick and sticky mucus, instead of just being a protective lining, it cogs the air passages in their lungs, and also blocks tubes in the pancreas, which in turn stops the enzymes the pancreas makes from reaching their intestines. Without those enzymes, the intestines can't fully process and absorb the vital nutrients from food, which is why people who suffer from CF have trouble gaining weight. Like Taemin."

She allows Luhan a moment for the information to sink in. His tired eyes rake over Taemin's body, picking up the way his son is always quivering with either an incoming or a continuing bout of coughs. He's so young, Luhan thinks, his heart constricting.

He doesn't realise that he had spoken aloud until Doctor Seo says, "Cystic fibrosis is normally diagnosed from a very young age− usually just after birth. There is a newborn screen, which is mandatory in other countries, that tests for cystic fibrosis."

Frowning, Luhan says, "I don't remember the twins having a newborn screen for CF."

"No," she says in response, shaking her head. "You wouldn't have. Since cystic fibrosis isn't common in our country− or in Asia, for that matter, the newborn screen for CF is only undertaken if the doctor has a suspicion that your child may have CF. However, Taemin displayed symptoms later than expected, which is why we were only just able to diagnose him."

Luhan thinks of all the babies out there with parents who are being told that their child has cystic fibrosis, the same way he is now. He shakes his head, slowly at first, then faster, until the room blurs. When he looks back up at Doctor Seo, he realises distantly that his whole body is shaking. "What do I have to do? Is he going to die?"

"There is no cure. I'm not going to lie to you− cystic fibrosis, is a life-threatening disease, and the life expectancy of someone with the disease is shorter than that of a healthy person. But," and at this, Dr Seo's voice is gentle, "there are things we can do."

"Like what?"

"Taemin can be put on a special, high-calorie diet to help him gain weight normally, and he can be provided with special treatment to maintain his lung functions," Doctor Seo says. "Unfortunately, this clinic isn't equipped to deal with that sort of regular treatment for CF patients and provide support for parents, but there are hospitals out there with programs that specialise in providing the care and support you will need. I recommend you take Taemin to a specialist at one of the hospitals, so they can run some tests to see what he needs."

"Okay," says Luhan, because that's really all he can say right now− okay, even though it's not. He takes a deep breath and nods. There will be time later to let this really sink in, to allow himself to break down, the way he feels like doing so right now. "So, there are hospitals that can... that can help him?"

"There are some in this city and scattered around the country, but not many, owing to the rarity of the disease in this region. I may be able to check with my senior here and ask him for the best, and nearest, hospitals that can help you..." Doctor Seo sinks into deep thought for a moment, fingers drumming on the desk. "Right now, the only specific clinic I can think of that specialises in treating patients with cystic fibrosis is in Japan, but that probably doesn't sound like an attractive option to you, does it?"

To be honest, no, it doesn't. But  Luhan is willing to take anything and soak up as much information as he can. "What do you know about the clinic in Japan?"

"Before Taemin, I diagnosed one other child with cystic fibrosis, and the parents chose to take him to the clinic in Japan, which is how I know about it," she says. "I have a brochure around here about it, actually. Let me just−" She rummages around her drawers. "Ah. Here." Doctor Seo hands him an information booklet. The front is light blue and orange, with white letters spelling out, Heiwa Clinic.

"Of course, I recommend that you choose this facility only as a last resort, because it is so far away, and since the facilities available in our country are acceptable enough for Taemin," she says. "If you have any further questions later, you can always book another appointment to come and see me."

Luhan nods, tucking the brochure into the twins' baby bag. "There's just one thing I wanted to ask, before I go."

Doctor Seo inclines her head. "Which is...?"

"How did Taemin get cystic fibrosis?" Luhan asks, afraid that the answer involves something along the lines of him and Yoona not taking enough care of him. "Like, what factors are involved?"

"Cystic fibrosis is an inherited disease," Doctor Seo says, "meaning the disease is passed on from parent to child, through genes."

Luhan's heart and mind seem to explode, leaving his ears ringing. "Parent to child? But... I don't have cystic fibrosis."

"You don't have to," Doctor Seo says. "You just passed it onto your son."

***

The tears don't come until Luhan is halfway home, and when they do, they wash over him like waves  dumping themselves on the shore of a deserted island− unrelenting and unheard by anyone who matters. Eventually, his vision blurs the road ahead of him, as if his windshield is soaked with rain, and he has to pull over.

He pulls over at a park and bundles the twins into the stroller, before stepping out, ignoring the way people are staring at him− the man with a blotchy face, with two kids in tow and their mother nowhere in sight. Settling down on a park bench, Luhan's fingers fumble around in the pocket of his thick jacket, and after a moment, he manages to bring his phone out. With the ease of familiarity, he dials the one person he can think to call right now.

Sehun answers on the second ring. "Hyung?"

Just hearing his brother's voice is enough to choke Luhan up. All the words he'd prepared, just like one prepares for an interview, are gone.

"Luhan," Sehun says, using his first name. Firmly, this time. "Are you crying?"

"I don't know what to do," Luhan mumbles, ignoring his question. "Sehun, Taemin is sick."

"Sick?" Sehun repeats, and Luhan can hear him conversing with someone on the other end, saying something like, Yes, it's Luhan, and he's talking about Taemin. Probably Kris. "What did the doctor say?"

Luhan takes a deep shuddering breath, just as Jongin starts crying. Almost without thinking, Luhan fetches a bottle of milk from their baby bag and begins feeding Jongin, who hungrily, his eyes wide and his cheeks pink.

Seeing Jongin, Luhan can't help but glance over at Taemin, the way one's eyes are automatically drawn to the only face in a photo that one recognises. He sees that Taemin's cheeks are also pink, but they're only stained that way from the effort of drawing out breath from blocked lungs to cough. Just looking at him makes Luhan feel like a giant hand is crushing his heart.

"Luhan?" Sehun's voice brings him back down to Earth. "What did the doctor say?"

"She diagnosed Taemin with cystic fibrosis. It's a disease that blocks his lungs and messes up his digestive system. That's why he's coughing and not gaining weight properly," Luhan tells him, putting the bottle away, now that Jongin is finished. Saying the words out loud to someone other than himself makes Luhan feel, now more than ever, that this is all real. It's all real, and he can't take any of it back. Deep breaths, Luhan, he tells himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Cystic fibrosis..." Sehun says, a frown in his voice. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"It sounded familiar to me, too, actually. I just..." Luhan opens his eyes and looks over the park, not quite seeing any of it. "I just couldn't think of why and how at the time. Or now, even. I can't figure out where I've heard it before."

"Probably just something we overheard," Sehun says, but Luhan has a feeling that that's not the case. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Luhan's shoulders slump. "There is no cure, and I have to go hunting for a hospital that will be able to look after Taemin; apparently, there aren't many in the country."

"Gosh..." Sehun mutters, and Luhan imagines that he's shaking his head. "Have you told Yoona?"

Luhan freezes. "No."

"When are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know," Luhan says. His chest feels heavy, and he wonders if he'll be able to place this burden on Yoona's shoulders. If he's honest, he doesn't want to give anyone this kind of burden to shoulder. "I don't want to tell her."

"Well, you're going to have to tell her sometime− Hey!" Sehun suddenly exclaims. "I know why cystic fibrosis sounds familiar now."

"Why?"

"Our distant cousin, your biological distant cousin, Qian. She had cystic fibrosis," Sehun says. "We met her once, at a Christmas party years ago. I think you were ten at the time; I was seven."

Luhan is silent for a moment, waiting for his mind to recall the memory of their distant cousin. When he remembers, he sees a girl with a pale face, who might have been exceptionally beautiful, if it hadn't been for the fact that she looked like a piece of driftwood in the middle of a war-torn sea.

Luhan had never actually spoken to Qian, had never even heard her voice, but he remembers her now, and he remembers that she had died several years ago. He doesn't remember going to her funeral, though; at the time, he hadn't thought much of it. "She had it bad," Luhan murmurs.

"She was confined to bed by the time she was thirteen, and died the year after." Ever the more observant one of the two of them, Sehun recalls this fact as if he is talking about a blood relative that he had known well, instead of one he had probably never spoken to and wasn't even truly related to.

Confined to bed. She was thirteen. Died the year after. No matter how hard and fast Luhan blinks, he sees the stills of a movie that hasn't yet been filmed flashing across the backs of his eyelids. A movie that involves him, Yoona, and the twins, set several years in the future. They are happy now, he sees, and Yoona loves him the way he loves her, the way he's always wanted her to.

Flash forward, and Luhan sees Taemin at his wedding, dancing with his bride, whose face Luhan can't see. Taemin's cheeks are high with colour, good colour− the colour of rose champagne, and not fever or the signs of damaged lungs.

Then suddenly, the image starts burning. Taemin and his bride keep dancing, but soon, Luhan can't see them anymore. The fire up the corners of the memory, chasing up, up, up, until the scene dissolves in a pile of ashes, gathered in the blanket wrapped around baby Taemin right now. Taemin, who is asleep, and far from being anyone's husband.

Luhan's face grows weary, his features torn by something like guilt. Or maybe it's slight envy. Sehun can talk about Qian like it's nothing because he doesn't have the blood that passes on a disease that robs the most innocent people of life. Sehun can recall details about someone's death, and not feel any guilt because he won't be responsible for passing something onto his children the way Luhan's uncle had passed on cystic fibrosis to Qian; the way Luhan has passed on the disease to Taemin.

"Sehun, it's all my fault," Luhan says, shuddering; the prelude of another sob. If he was a smoker, he would have had an empty cigarette packet and a worn lighter by now.

"What are you talking about?"

"The disease," Luhan says. "Cystic fibrosis is inherited, which means I passed it on Taemin. It's my fault that he's like this."

Sehun is quiet for once, as if the secret reservoir lining his tongue and mouth with words has suddenly evaporated. Then he says, "You can't blame yourself, Luhan. It's only going to hurt you, and that's not going to do Taemin−or Jongin, or Yoona−any good. I know it sounds harsh, but someone's got to tell you: you can't let yourself get hurt; for the sake of your children."

"But what about Yoona?" Luhan whispers. "What am I going to do when I tell her the disease is inherited and after all this, after the pregnancy and the marriage and the sleepless hours, I gave her a sick son?"

"You can't have known," Sehun says.

"You don't get it, Sehun." Luhan's face contorts with pain. "I can't do this to her. She's been through,−and is still going through− too much. What can I tell her, huh? Our son has a disease that might see us burying him before we even think about buying our own coffins, but I'm sorry, and I want you to remember that I love you, because that's all that matters, and after everything, that's all I can give you without hurting anyone?"

"Yes!" Sehun cries, sounding exasperated. "That's what you should tell her. In the end, isn't that what matters? That you love your sons, and you love her, and whatever happens, you'll still be there?"

"I can't tell her that. She doesn't love me. Telling her that I love her won't make things any better. It won't change the fact that Taemin is sick, and that it's my fault. Do you think she's going to forget that?"

"Let me ask you this," Sehun says. "If Yoona told you that she unknowingly sent Taemin or Jongin to a daycare that was attacked by a gunman who left no survivors, how would you feel?"

"Devastated," Luhan says immediately. Just imagining the situation is enough to make him feel like someone replaced every organ in his body with ice and metal.

"Would you blame her?"

"No," Luhan says, and pauses. "But I wouldn't forget it. I wouldn't show it, but I'd have a hole in my heart until it stops beating. That's how Yoona will feel if Taemin dies because of this disease."

"But that's what marriage is!" Sehun sounds like a preacher. "You're supposed to go through it together, jump the hurdles together, and each bear a share of the burden."

"She doesn't have to carry a burden like this," Luhan whispers. "A couple of weeks before Yoona left, she got a cold, and she insisted that I keep the twins away from her if I could help it. She said she'd rather be sick herself than be the reason that the twins get sick." He stares at Jongin, who stares right back at him. "Sehun, what if I tell her, and she thinks inside that she wishes I was sick instead of Taemin?"

"So, what, you think it's better, not telling her, and just going on thinking that it's all your fault?" Sehun asks, challenging him. "Is that really what you believe?

Luhan hesitates. "Yes."

Sehun heaves a sigh. "I know you, Luhan. You're my brother, and as goddamn cheesy as it sounds, I'm going to trust you because I believe in you. I hope you do the right thing."

***

Later that night, when Taemin is asleep, and traces of dreamland are starting to swim into Jongin's eyes as Luhan rocks him back and forth in his arms, the phone rings.

Even after a week of expecting Yoona and hearing someone else's voice answer, Luhan still expects her when he answers the phone, except this time, he doesn't think hearing her voice will make him happier, and this time, it is actually Yoona.

"Hi," she says, her voice launching the phone cord into a tornado around Luhan's finger. Yoona had asked him why he wanted to get such an old fashioned phone, and Luhan had insisted that you can find charm in the strangest things. To be honest, he just wanted something traditional, especially after all the unconventional things and events he has been subject to lately. "It's me."

"I know," Luhan says, before he can stop himself. "How... how are you doing?"

"I'm good," Yoona replies, sounding distracted. "Luhan, have you been crying?"

Like Sehun, Yoona easily picks up the sound of his thick throat. "It's nothing," he insists, and if his voice was a shoulder, then her words are a hand that's being shaken off the shoulder. "I'm fine."

"You sure about that?" In her voice, Luhan can hear part of the old Yoona. The Yoona that beckoned strangers across bars for the sake of hooking her friend up with his brother. "Luhan, if there's something wrong, you can tell me−"

"The twins are fine, if that's what you think I've supposedly been crying about," Luhan says, and it's three quarters of a lie; Taemin isn't fine, and the older twin's wellbeing was what he'd been crying about. "As for me, I'm doing... fine."

"Fine..." Yoona repeats the word, consideration in her tone. She's silent for a few moments, and Luhan imagines that she's pacing the room. "Listen, I called to tell you that I'm not coming back tomorrow, as I originally planned. Tomorrow, I'm taking a trip down to court with a class to watch proceedings− sort of like an elementary excursion," she says, and laughs, but Luhan doesn't. "I'll be back on Monday morning. The trip isn't mandatory, but..." Here, she pauses.

Luhan knows that this is the moment where he can ask her to come back, maybe tell her all the things one can miss in a day, especially when one has two month old twins. But he needs this time. He needs whatever extra time he can get to think of something to tell her when she comes back and sees that Taemin isn't fine. "Okay," he says. He wonders if her face fell in disappointment. "I'll see you on Monday."

He's just about to hang up, when Yoona says, "Luhan," really softly, followed by, "Whatever it is, it'll be okay. I know you're not fine, and if you're not ready to tell me, then I understand. Just know that it will be okay."

No, it won't, Luhan's mind whispers. And in that second, he makes his decision. Swallowing, he says, "Yoona."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know the word 'heiwa'?"

"'Heiwa'?" Yoona repeats. "Is that Chinese?"

"Japanese," Luhan answers.

"I don't speak Japanese, Luhan," Yoona says, and he can hear a teasing smile in her voice, a smile he might have died to see if he had only himself to think of. But he can't die for himself anymore. You can't let yourself get hurt; for the sake of your children. "Why? What does the word mean?"

If she were in front of him right now, Luhan would not have returned the smile. "I don't know what it means; I just heard it somewhere," he says. "But I'm going to find out."

She laughs. "Okay," she says. "Goodnight."

"Bye, Yoona."

***

Everything in Luhan's life seems to change by day, and as he walks into the cafe (the twins are at home with Sehun), he wonders if everything would finally stop for him if the days stopped changing names. Maybe. Or maybe every day of the week would continue to be different even if they had the same name. Just like coffees−the taste depends on how you make them, even if the coffee is always named 'Americano'. The outcome of a day depends on what you make of it.

Luhan is shaping this day. There's a thumping in his chest that feels like indigestion, though it's more like the feeling you get when someone turns up at your grandmother's funeral, unknowingly holding her favourite flowers.

Junmyeon sits in a booth at the back of the cafe, waving and smiling despite the fact that he knows very well why Luhan is here.

There's a cup of coffee sitting, untouched, on a saucer in front of Junmyeon, who barely even spares it a glance as he looks Luhan over. "I got your resignation email," he says. "You're sure about this?"

Luhan nods, keeping his eyes on Junmyeon's coffee. Americano. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice," he says. "Like I said in the email, it's urgent."

Junmyeon sighs, then in a deep breath. "We understand," he says. "There are some things that need to be settled, though. That last group project you worked on, for example. You contributed and although it isn't finished, I will be paying you for your efforts at the commencement of the project, anyway. The money will be transferred to your bank account−"

"No, no," Luhan interrupts. "Don't transfer it to the account I've used since you employed me. I'd like you to transfer it to the second account I put down in my records a few months ago."

"The one you share with your wife?"

Luhan winces inwardly. "Yes, that one. Make sure all the money goes into that account."

"Okay," Junmyeon says, nodding. He smiles, a little sadly, when he looks at Luhan. "You know, when Baekhyun and the others hear about this, they might just drag you back."

This is Junmyeon's way of saying goodbye, Luhan realises. He almost smiles; Luhan doesn't have a great track record with goodbyes, either. "I might come and visit sometime," he says, even though he knows it's unlikely. "I can do that, right?" Even though I won't.

"Yes, of course," Junmyeon replies. Even though you won't.

Luhan stands, managing a stoic smile. Junmyeon offers a hand, which Luhan shakes; it feels like a hug and stifled tears. "I'll be leaving first, then," Luhan says, walking out of the booth and out of the cafe. As he walks to his car, he wonders if Junmyeon is drinking his cold coffee.

***

Luhan had managed to make Sehun leave before dinner, despite the younger's offers to make dinner (which he has never done, not once in more than ten years). The house feels like an empty church, even though Luhan has been on his own for a week now, and he should be used to it.

Slowly, he goes about doing what he has to do. Yoona is coming home tomorrow morning, he knows. Best if she comes home to a clean house, he thinks.

After the twins drift off to sleep, Luhan is about to walk out of the nursery, but does a double take when he sees the two orange trains sitting on a shelf, amongst other toys that the twins aren't old enough to play with yet.

He walks over, brow furrowed, and picks up one at random. There are initials, he knows, on the bottom of the toy that identifies the train as either Jongin's or Taemin's, but Luhan doesn't want to see them. He doesn't need to.

Luhan's fingers close over the train as he walks over to Jongin's bassinet. Leaning down, Luhan presses a kiss, softer than a summer breeze, on both of Jongin's cheeks, then his forehead. As he does so, a strange memory comes to Luhan's mind.

In fact, it's not even a memory. Just a sound; someone's voice. Sehun's voice (from what feels like thousands of years ago), telling him that, Someday, she's gonna break you, too, and when that happens...

"It won't happen, Sehun," he whispers. "Not to me."

 ***

It takes a while for Yoona to turn the key in the lock and open the door, because the keys are in her left hand, and her right hand is already too attached to the warmth of the suitcase handle to let go. Finally, the door swings open, and she busies herself with dumping her bags onto the floor in an organised pile.

"Luhan?" There's no answer, and when Yoona looks at her watch, she supposes it's reasonable. Maybe Luhan is sleeping in. It's so quiet.

She walks around the house, and as she does so, it becomes more and more evident that something is wrong. Luhan's toothbrush isn't in the bathroom, and neither is his favourite towel. Her fears are further made worse when she opens the closet and sees that all his clothes are gone, save for a sweater that she had once told him she liked wearing. That same sweater hangs off a lone hanger, beside her favourite dress.

Yoona's heart starts racing in her chest as something suddenly occurs to her, but she relaxes slightly when she hears a cry come from the nursery. No wonder it had been so quiet; she was expecting to hear the twins' cries.

Clutching a hand to her chest, she lets out a breath, walking into the nursery. The babies are here. Relax, she tells herself. Maybe Luhan just went out to get something.

But why would he take all his clothes and his personal items with him?

Yoona tried to push down the worry as she switches the light on in the nursery. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, but when her vision is clear, she can see the problem immediately.

Taemin is not in his bassinet.

Jongin is crying, waving his arms about, and Yoona rushes over, hauling him into her arms. All the while, the panic in refuses to be swallowed down. Where is Taemin? Her eyes dart around the place, landing on the shelf of toys in the corner.

On the middle shelf, where there should have been two trains, there is only one.

The sight acts like a trigger; Yoona lets out a gasp of disbelief. This isn't right, it can't be right, she thinks, turning away from the room and running as fast as she can with Jongin in her arms. He hasn't stopped crying yet, but there'll be time for that later, Yoona thinks. But right now...

She pushes the door to the back veranda open. Somehow, this is the last place she can think of, the last place where Luhan might just be−

There's no one out here. A winter-tasting breeze whistles past, as if to emphasise that it's too cold for someone to be out this early. Holding Jongin closer to her body, Yoona shakes her head, not quite knowing why tears are pricking her eyes. For once, she lets them pour freely; it's been so long since she let herself cry. Too long.

Sniffing, she inches closer to the bench, and stops. There's something there; something small, white, folded twice, tucked into the slats between the wood.

With a shaking hand, Yoona pulls it out. It's a note, with a hastily torn edge running along one side. The paper flaps in the wind like a trapped butterfly as she opens it. There are only three words on it, written in Luhan's font.

Please don't break.

***

A/N: Another update! :D

I may not update for a little while, because my holidays are almost over, so please bear with me ^^;;

This chapter doesn't have many Luyoon interactions, and I'm sorry, if that's what you wanted. I'm just preparing you for what's coming; don't expect many Luyoon interactions for a while.

I don't know how many clinics there are in South Korea that specialise in treating people suffering from cystic fibrosis, but there probably aren't many, since CF really isn't common in Asia. Also, I made that clinic in Japan up. Google Translate tells me that 'heiwa' means peace/harmony; if you can speak Japanese, can you tell me if that's right...? Haha xD

Luhan cousin, Qian, is f(x)'s Victoria, yes.

Also, if you have any prior knowledge of CF, you'll know that I've missed something here, and if you think you know what it is, please keep hush because I did that on purpose. All part of the plan ;)

Thank you for reading ^^