Himchan passed him everyday, twice around Christmas season, on his way to work. He had never thought to stop and empty his extra change into the charity bucket in his hands, or to explain how he didn’t have any change to spare. He was probably some homeless kid, kicked out for using drugs or some other awful thing, that was just putting on a nice face. Himchan didn’t trust anyone in the world, so he never gave selflessly. He only had to work and work and work and prove his worth—he didn’t have to be a good person, too.

Really, Himchan shouldn’t have even noticed when the boy with the tiny eyes and the aloof smile disappeared from the street corner. He assumed it was just because he had become such a regular part of his route, like the buildings he passed, that it felt off without the annoying bell. He’d be back the next day, Himchan told himself, probably caught a cold from never wearing a coat like a stupid kid. But, much to Himchan’s surprise, the boy didn’t come back the next day, or the day after that.

For a week, he was gone.

And for the next week.

And soon a month passed without the cheery bell-boy. With him, he seemed to take the sun and the energy of the street. There was no longer anyone to break the monotony, and everyone just marched onward in silence as they attempted to work themselves up the corporate ladder, Himchan included; but, he couldn’t deny the fact that his eyes seemed to linger on the place where the boy had once stood, and that he always found himself briefly missing him.

When the new year came upon them, a new boy started standing there. This one was taller, thinner, and had obnoxiously loud hair. He rang the bell with rhythm but with an in-your-face feeling about him. He looked the part of a punk kid, but Himchan stopped anyway. He pulled a few small bills left over from his morning coffee and slipped them into the bucket. The boy murmured a quick thank you, and Himchan began to walk away. He made it about four steps before turning around and striding right back to the stand-in-bell-ringer.

“Where’s the other boy?” 

“Hm?”

“The one with the brown hair that used to stand here?”

“I can’t quite recall, donate a little more and maybe I’ll remember.”

Himchan scowled and pulled out his wallet, ing a fifty-thousand note at him. The boy smiled a much more pleasant one, and placed it with the rest of the small change donations. “Jongup’s not feeling too great these days. His hyung is getting sicker.” Himchan furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head and the boy gave him a skeptical look. 

“Don’t you know what you’re donating to?” 

Embarrassed, the man shook his head.

“Moon Jongup, that kid that stood here, learned to dance from someone who developed bone cancer. He needed an operation before it spread, so Jongup recruited all of his friends—like me—to help collect donations. He did other stuff, too, but it wasn’t enough. Now we’re saving up to give his hyung a nice funeral. Jongup’s been moonlighting n’ stuff the past month or two. He stopped showing up at school, too. I dunno, he’s in pretty bad shape from what I last saw of him.”

Himchan was shocked. Every day the boy wore a smile, and yet he had to be in more pain that the man had ever experienced. His life had been relatively easy, and he wasn’t inclined to feel much for others, but for whatever reason, this story tugged on his heart strings. “Where is he now, would you suppose?” The boy shrugged his shoulders, but as he another onehundred-thousand won at him, he seemed to recall an address of a hospital.

Today was important. There was a meeting that could mean his promotion. Maybe if he hurried, he could still make it. “I’m vomiting,” Himchan told his boss, ducking into a quiet cafe. He proceeded to make several gagging noises and got strange looks from the poor confused barista before hurrying on his way. The excuse was bought for now, and Himchan was sure he’d probably regret it later, but he had to see the boy once more—Jongup. Moon Jongup.

When he got to the hospital he didn’t even have to ask around for the boy as he seemed to be just leaving, a vase of old flowers in his hands. He kept his eyes down, as he was probably just a child compared to the twenty-eight-year-old. Himchan approached him and cleared his throat. “Is it inoperable?” Jongup looked up at him with startled eyes, confused by the sudden question. “The cancer,” he clarified. “Is it inoperable?”

Jongup opened his mouth, but appeared to get choked up somewhere in between speaking. “Yes,” he said softly, dropping his eyes to his feet. Himchan felt a lump in his throat and he nodded his head. 

“How much do you have saved up?” Jongup shuffled his feet.

“About five million, a little less.”

Himchan nodded once more, pulling out his check book. “What do funerals run these days? Eight million? Ten? I’ll just write it out for ten million.” Jongup’s mouth fell open and the vase slipped from his hands. Luckily, the plastic container didn’t break, but it did result in getting the man’s shoes and pant cuffs wet. Gasping, he dropped to his knees in a string of awkward apologies, brushing the pollen off the expensive fabric.  

“Don’t worry about it—It’s fine, this is one of my cheap suits.” 

But Jongup did worry. He was overloaded with the claims of the man, and his own clumsiness that he couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated again and again as Himchan knelt down to join him in the flowers and the water. He placed a hand on his head and shook his head.

“You don’t have to be sorry, kid…”

Jongup apologized again as he threw his arms around the stranger. He just needed someone to hold—someone to be there. He was sorry for everything, for the flowers, for the tears, for his needy embrace, but he was sorry most of all that he hadn’t been able to save his hyung. Himchan understood this the best that he possibly could, so he held the boy in his arms, not releasing him. And so, the two, strangers—though, one more than the other— embraced awkwardly on the floor of a hospital lobby while one was gasping for air and crying his eyes out.

Embarrassed after tears had stopped, Jongup released Himchan. He felt bad for getting his suit even wetter, this time with salt water; but, Himchan didn’t mind. He forced an awkward smile and helped the boy to his feet, ruffling his hair. The cleaned up the flowers together, and Jongup took Himchan too the bathroom to dab off the water from his pants (which he had insisted on doing, instead of the business man). The money didn’t come up again until ever drop was absorbed into the brown fibers.

“Ten million.”

“Sonsaengnim, I can’t ask that of you…”

“But you can take it from me.”

“I— but, sir—”

“Himchan.”

“Himchan-ssi, that’s so much.”

Himchan could only shrug. He had no family to spend it on, and most of it just went into the bank anyway. He was working for status, not for savings. “I’ve got a lot.” Which was true, and so, Jongup, awkward and submissive, lost the argument. He wrote out the check and he pressed it into his hands and turned to leave. But tan fingers curled around his suit sleeve and enticed him to stay. “Please… Come meet him. He’d like that.”

Himchan would have resisted in an heart beat had it not been for the puppy dog eyes that the boy naturally possessed. Jongup took his sweaty hand in his and pulled him along, through the hallways of white. They came upon a room, 2116, he’d never forget it—and in that room there laid a man looking withered and ill with skin that appeared to be paper thin. It was nearly translucent, and his arms hung limp at his side. Even so, at the sound of Jongup’s soft voice, the man stirred and smiled.

“This man just donated a lot of money. More than enough—That means we can buy more medicine and you can—”

“Jongup.” The boy fell quiet.

“That’s just silly. Hyung’s going to die, but that’s okay. Everyone dies some day. You use that extra money to pay the rent, and to go back to school. I know you haven’t been eating lately.” Jongup’s faced twisted up in pain and anguish and he shook his head, fearing that he might spill tears yet again.

“You two lived together?” Himchan asked quietly. The man’s eyes fell on him for a long time as he nodded. He looked him over so thoroughly that he was nearly embarrassed to stand there. 

“Why’d you donate all of the sudden?” 

Guiltily, Himchan shifted his eyes elsewhere. “I… It was something I should have done a long time ago. I’m sorry I was late I—” 

“Kindness never comes too late. Jonguppie, can you stand outside for a moment? I want to speak to him.” 

Like a dog, his he hurried out immediately. Himchan swallowed thickly, almost expecting a sudden scolding, but the man only motioned him over. Taking his hand in his, he looked at Himchan was a weary smile. “I’m passing on soon, very very soon. A couple of days, maybe a week or two at the most… That boy… He has nothing. No one except for me. He’s such a good boy, leaving him behind is my only regret,” he explained, choking up a bit but continuing all the same. “It’s too much to ask of you, I know… You’ve already given so much. But could you look into him? Just to care a bit? If not, convince him to keep that money. Cremations are no more than six-hundred-thousand. He can keep the rest for college and—”

“I’ll do it.” Himchan cut him off, lest his heart break anymore. “I’ll take care of him.”

And that was how Kim Himchan’s grey life became filled with Moon Jongup and his broken sunlight.