Luhan pushes the thick tape into their age old VCR, fumbling a bit when a blue screen floods the glass. He presses a few buttons and finally the television cackles with life and a scratchy figure starts to appear in the midst of shaky motions of a handheld camera. After a few seconds, the camera focuses and the figure clears up and becomes a man, short in stature and hollow cheeked. His eyes are sad, as they droop with un-sourced nostalgia.

Luhan smiles. The man in the television was a man worth more than one life. Worth more than anything you can imagine, but only he couldn’t see that. The man was blinded by the thick blanket society had shrouded over his eyes.

The man was a man with nothing else to lose, when all he’s ever loved and cared for had left him for the gates of Heaven. He’s stuck on the world with no real purpose, no real identity of his own.  Melancholy paints his body how an artists’ decorate a canvas. Shades of blue and green swirl in synchronization, coloring his arms and legs while varying tones of teal and deep navy dance around his waist like a ballerina duo creating poetry on stage.

It was consistent until a streak of blood appears on his arm, interrupting the orchestras of fluid movements. It trails up his arm and down his stomach, covering the splatters of dark blue that already stained pasty skin.

It paints a large, bloody butterfly on his body, with beautiful wings extended out onto his arms and legs. Thin lines ran up his neck, curving to the right like small antennas while a thin, cylinder-like body was carved into his chest and waist, dipping down and around his thighs.

Beautiful, disgustingly beautiful.

The man’s eyes were long dead, irises a color of molten ash and lips a shade of pink so pale they melted into a white snowstorm.

Luhan stares sadly at the man in the screen. He moves the tape box to the table and gently takes a seat on the empty couch, the only piece of furniture on the apartment room.

If you’re watching this, then I’m already dead.

The man in the screen says. His voice is hauntingly alluring, like the whispers of angels that comforted roused children in the night.

This isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s mines. Do you hear me Luhan? Don’t go thinking this was your fault or I swear I’ll come after you.

A hint of a smile tickles the corners of Luhan’s lips. He softens his gaze at the man and with a shallow sigh; he readjusts his position on the sofa and continues watching.

My name is Kim Minseok. I’m twenty-five years old. Today is April 21, 2012, and tomorrow I’m going to kill myself.

Minseok, the man in the screen, takes a shaky breath before continuing. His health seems fragile, with a skinny body and limp, dusty brown colored hair. Luhan’s heart breaks at the sight, even though it’s his umpteenth time watching the tape.

My boyfriend is Luhan and he’s in the United States studying abroad right now. I miss him a lot. He’s not here and I’m not sure what to do anymore. I don’t have anyone to make happy. I don’t have anything to look forward too.

I’m lost. What do I do?

Luhan closes his eyes and looks away from the television. His words strike a chord in Luhan’s heart, sending him reminders that he wasn’t their when his beloved had needed him. He was doing something stupid while his lover was suffering alone in their shared apartment, half way across the world. His body shakes and even from the back view Luhan can tell Minseok is crying.

He blinks back tears of his own and focuses back on the screen when Minseok breathes in deeply and starts to speak once more.

I can’t take it anymore. I’m so lonely. So, so lonely. It’s eating me up. I can’t be sane and this lonely, it’s not possible.

Luhan, I love you.

Luhan’s’s heart takes another stab, right down the center by a jagged dagger. He clutches his chest like a lifeline while hot tears spring from the corners of his eyes, stinging his pupils like lemon to a flesh wound. Minseok’s words physically hurt him, making him feel as if he’d been shot a dozen times at point blank range, but never able to die, only able to endure the pain and live on.

Minseok smiles through all his tears and red eyes and manages to hold out a hand, pinky finger outstretched.

Promise me that you’ll continue to live, ok? I have no one. But you, Luhan, you have everyone. Sehunis only four years old and you can’t leave him. Jongin’s a bossy brat that Joonmyun can’t handle alone, so who would be able to put up with him if not you? Your parents still love you. You have everything to live for, Luhan.

I’m a waste of space, a waste of oxygen and a waste of resources—

“Stop it.” Luhan whispers harshly, lips set in a pitiful sneer. He can’t, he doesn’t want to understand why Minseok thought that of himself.

“Minseok you don’t know what you did to me. You’ve killed me, stabbed me, and poisoned me with your sweetness and charm. How can you just leave like that?” Luhan asks no one. The figure in the television continues to speak without pause.

—Luhan. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I need to do this. I can’t see myself living another week. I’ve tried so hard but I guess sometimes God doesn’t want some people to continue, huh?

It’s cold. It’s really cold and I’m standing in the middle of the storm in pair of boxers and a tank top. I can’t do this anymore; I’ve made up my mind. When you see this video I’m going to be long dead.

Luhan bites his lips hard, drawing mini droplets of blood that glide down his chin and drip onto his jeans, staining expensive denim. He couldn’t care less, when all on his mind is the man behind the glass screen.

I love you. I love you so much. I remember all the times we had dinner together at the park because you screwed up making the food. I remember all those times you pressed me into the bed and kissed me for all I was worth, abusing my lips like they were a punching bag. Come to think of it, I really didn’t mind. That’s what I liked about you. You weren’t afraid to push me or handle me roughly. I felt like you really loved me, since you had the courage to throw me around and not worry about breaking me.

But recently, you’re treating me like I’m made of porcelain. I’m not breakable. Treat me like a human being. I want to be touched, I want to be hugged, I want to be pushed around, thrown on the bed, pressed against the wall, kissed until my lips were swollen, and ed until I’m gasping for air.

Minseok takes a deep breath before looking in the camera once more, and this time Luhan summons all his willpower to not breakdown and start crying.

Luhan, I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.

The tape scratches and black overwhelms once colored glass. The dead silence of the room weighs down on Luhan’s shoulders like a five ton weight, pushing him into the couch.

Suddenly, his cellphone rings in his pocket and he jumps, scrambling to get it.

“Yes, hello?”

A beat of inaudibility passes before he can hear muffled shuffling. “Taxi’s here.” A gruff voice replies.

“O-oh, yeah, got it. I’ll be down in a sec.” Luhan ends the call with a simple click of a button, disregarding the answer that he never gets to hear.

He stands and looks around the barren room once more. The only thing left was the couch and a small lamp in the corner of the room, unplugged. He walks over to the wall opposite of the couch and touches the chipping paint forlornly, using his dull nails to fruitlessly scratch the surface. His eyebrows crease, but his eyes soften when he remembers the time where Minseok had spilled paint onto himself while attempting to cover up a stain with paint. In the end, it was up to him to clean his adorable little boyfriend up. Not that he minded of course.

He catches his heart before it can fall into his stomach, in his tears before they can fall, and steels his nerves before he can break down. It’s been a year, he should be over it.

But how can he forget the love of his life?

The honk of a horn catches his attention and he suddenly remembers the gruff voice on the phone.

“O-oh right, I called a cab…”

Luhan looks back at the room, hand fiddling with his messenger bag. He slowly slips on his jacket and before leaving the small apartment room forever; he runs his hand around the perimeter of the small room one more time.

“Bye, Minseok. I’ll see you later.”

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