he's alive, only in his heart

bound by courage, laced with fear; chanyeol is at his wit’s end. his mind is slowly turning into nothing but mush, and it takes longer to differ the days that pass by so painstakingly. days turn into blurred lines of weeks and weeks turn into blobs of months and months into (five, long and painful, why the hell am i still immobile) years.

park chanyeol, twenty-three, is dead—but alive. it’s not a confusing or impossible matter. in a coma since he was eighteen, his parents never took the initiative to pull the plug. there is a glistening hope he’ll wake up, because for the first eighteen years of his life he spent seeing and hearing and exploring, chanyeol was always up, always energetic. it wasn’t in his nature to give up, he would try and try and try until his bones hurt and his body gave out.

that’s how determined he is.

visits of his family subtract as the grueling days go pass and the heart monitor still burns red. by the time it’s his twentieth birthday, only his parents and a couple of friends visit. he thinks it’s nice of them to come—even if they didn’t want to or they were busy that day. a time slot was always punched for chanyeol, and he can’t help but feel so burdened with the fact.

on the inside, regardless of what is presented on the outside, he is in the state of war. chanyeol feels the sensation of pins and needles, and they don’t stop. they never do, never will. he had always tried and passed new things with ease, but this was an utter defeat he couldn’t handle to bear. they are taunting in his mind, and all he really wants to do is lift up a finger or an eyelid or something that says, hey, i’m alive. i’m okay. don’t worry about me.

but he can’t, and it hurts.

chanyeol’s heart bleeds a little when his mother holds his hand and whispers such encouraging little words to him. it bleeds a little more when his estranged father comes into the room and does the same. all he really wants to do is gather them into a warm, loving embrace.

he hears his mother saying something about a college student. chanyeol remembers the awkward days of his youth—fresh out of high school, and looking for a job. they’re a blur, but the things he can recollect are fond ones; mostly with his friends.

it’s at that moment where he realizes his life really .

(it’s not chanyeol’s fault that drunk-driving was evident in 2008. it’s only so popular now because so many people are alcoholics and so many people don’t follow the rules. chanyeol isn’t like that; even though he’s mischievous and playful, he knows his limits and he keeps his boundaries. it’s a sad thought that everyone else isn’t, and the whole world couldn’t be filled with park chanyeols. he hates people who don’t follow the rules, chanyeol concludes one day in his twenty-first year of living.)

“chanyeol,” his mother says; her voice was always so comforting to him when he was little, and since then, times didn’t change. “there will be a new guest coming tomorrow. he’s from the college you were going to attend. he’ll come and talk to you when we’re at work. it sounds fun, right?”

he has pride, and he feels some of the pride wash away after his mother finishes the last of her sentence. who was a stranger coming to his room of years, and talk to him?—a guy that he didn’t have a clue about.

as promised, a new voice slithers through the hallways the next afternoon (or was it morning, or night; chanyeol wasn’t sure). the voice is deep and gruff, and not entirely pleasing to his ears. it was plain, but pleasant he had to admit.

“hello,” is the first thing the man says before he closes the door, and locks it.  his following words are slurred and it’s quite difficult to make them out. all chanyeol hears is, “my name is wufan, and i’ll be visiting you now once a week. i’ll explain (it all) later.”

the first visit is nothing, but an unbearable silence and the murmurs of the heart monitor. chanyeol hears the pages of a magazine or book flipping, and he could tell the stranger was getting bored. he doesn’t know what to make of this, but takes a note that went along the lines of, wufan; stranger danger; don’t trust him.

chanyeol doesn’t know how many days have passed, but they surely have dragged on for ages. the same loud footsteps enter the room, and the same, gruff hello is presented to him. the sounds of a chair’s feet being scratched on the granite floors surround the room and the seconds seem like hours.

“last time, it was kind of boring, right?” wufan says. “i didn’t really introduce myself. so, here goes nothing.” chanyeol hears the deep breath that the latter takes. “my name’s wufan. i’m in college since two years ago. i’m twenty-four this year, and before you say anything, i started college late. don’t judge.”

wufan laughs and it is music to chanyeol’s ears.

“i like basketball, and girls—well, and boys if you count my recent relationship. it didn’t end well. i’m here because i have to do community service. sounds fun, right? you’re so lucky you don’t have to do this. can you even hear me? hello?—what’s even the use?” wufan sighs.

chanyeol listens in bewilderment, because wow, that’s the longest he’s ever heard this guy talk, and wow, has his voice gotten a thousand times more attractive.

“oh,” the latter says. “i’m an exchange student from canada. i’m chinese. don’t be hard on me if my korean’s bad, alright?”

whatever floats your boat, and makes you sleep at night.

“i pulled an all-nighter last night, so i’m going to take a nap now.”

wait! you’re supposed to talk to me and keep me company!

wufan tries his best to stifle a yawn, but so utterly fails. chanyeol could only hear the drip-drop of a tap not being completely turned off. it’s annoying, but the repetitive sounds blend in with his surroundings in a matter of long moments.

chanyeol soon learns a few things.

the first thing he learns, or really takes in, is that wufan is the opposite of him. he hears his mother say that apparently wufan is ‘a spitting image of you, chanyeol! never have i seen such an uncanny resemblance.’ she says it with a little too much enthusiasm.

mom, did you just find my long lost twin?

the second thing chanyeol learns is that wufan’s love life is a mess (actually, mess is an understatement). he’s dated men and women—all that he dumped because they couldn’t handle him. wufan says it’s because of his superior status, but chanyeol knows better.

you’re too cocky. that’s why people don’t like you. he knows that wufan will never hear him, and that’s one of the pros of being in a coma. (the list is short, so every pro he figures out, it’s a brownie point.)

the third thing he learns is that wufan’s personality is tough to handle. maybe it’s because wufan is a tad overconfident or maybe it’s because he’s bipolar. one moment he’s quiet, then the next he’s loud—it’s a never ending cycle of what if or just plain what? but it’s him, and chanyeol gives him points because he’s being himself. (and chanyeol likes when people are themselves.)

the last and fourth thing he learns is that wufan is kris at school, and if he ever woke up from this coma, wufan turns into kris. chanyeol never really got personas. he had this friend named jongin in eleventh grade, but jongin had insisted that everyone called him kai. chanyeol never did. jongin was clearly a great name for a great person—wufan is a great name for a great person, too.

(jongin would quickly defend himself every time chanyeol didn’t comply to his demands.

“why don’t you call me kai? everyone calls you yeol!”

“that’s because yeol is part of my name, jongin. there is no kai in kim jongin.”

jongin huffs, and walks off, dragging the friend by his side with him.

“at least i have two letters covered!” he quickly yells before he’s pushed into a classroom.)

“do you people in a coma hear people on the outside? i mean, do you hear me now?”

chanyeol doesn’t move, and wufan just sighs in defeat. it’s hopeless, entirely hopeless. chanyeol’s never going to wake and this entire thing will be considered a waste of time.

“i kind of life talking to you,” wufan murmurs. “you listen unlike my friends.”

i kind of like listening to you too—wait, not kind of. i really, really like listening to you.

“i consider you as a friend, even if you don’t. you’re really something, you know. your mom talks a lot about you. you seem like a really nice guy, chanyeol.”

perhaps it was because of the way his name rolls of wufan’s tongue or the fact that wufan’s complimenting him right now, but all chanyeol feels is butterflies. it’s happened before, the butterflies, but never because of such little words. chanyeol has always swooned around gestures and gifts, but this time, it wasn’t the case.

the feeling’s weird, really.

spring approaches and chanyeol’s days are ticking. his parents love him a little too much to see him in pain. the doctor even said so.

(chanyeol knows the doctor’s lying. he even overheard him saying that they needed his room. his room, not someone else’s. his room that he’s been occupying for so many years. chanyeol feels no pain, because he’s so use to it. he’s use to the pins and needles, he’s use to the shots, and he’s use to the processes. he’s okay with feeling a little numb, a little too hooked.

chanyeol still needs to sink in the fact that the spider webs didn’t scare the doctor away. spiders scare everyone.)

the decision is four to one. scratch that, four to zero, because chanyeol doesn’t count. (maybe wufan would if he was there, but he wasn’t scheduled until the day after his parents and the doctors had decided. where was wufan when chanyeol needed him?)

the next day, wufan comes as scheduled. his voice sounds dull.

“i heard you’re going to die on me,” he says, his voice too soft for anyone to hear, but chanyeol does.

“don’t. whatever you do, don’t.” wufan’s voice breaks, and for once, chanyeol dies a little inside.

wufan knows it’s silly to be talking to someone who isn’t alive, but he’s willing to take those chances. call him crazy; he doesn’t care.

chanyeol hurts again, but it’s not his body’s fault. it’s his heart, and all he really, really wants to do is wake. why is it so hard? why is it so hard to simply do something that people do a million times a day? he leaves questions unanswered, because maybe, just maybe, one day he will have them answered.

(but the hope is weak.)

he hears wufan’s voice under the clusters of his family’s.

“mrs. park, could you possibly rethink your decision on chanyeol?”

“as much as i wish i could, i can’t,” his mother says, voice breaking.

“why can’t you? chanyeol’s your only son, and after much of what you tell me about him, it’s a possibility that he can wake and he can be alive again. i know you won’t change your decision, but hear me on this. it’s worth it. it is. i was in a coma for eight years, mrs. park. i know what he’s going through, because i was there. they say you’re never really dead, because you aren’t. my mind still worked and i still could hear. just, just trust me on this. it’s worth it.”

“what makes you so sure?”

“call me a mind reader, but i think i can hear him sometimes.”

“that isn’t mind reading, wufan. it’s called being delusional.”

“at least i tried,” wufan whispers, but chanyeol hears him.

“chanyeol, i know you can hear me,” wufan demands. “listen, just do what you do best. it’s my last day today, because your mother told my school’s dean to stop this. i’m sorry. i only said some words for her, and it just happened.”

his following words a blur, but his first few sentences repeat in chanyeol’s mind like a mantra.

“it’s hard to do simple things, i know, but try—for me?”

chanyeol does, but nothing happens. wufan sighs.

the weeks turn long; all chanyeol wants to do is hear wufan’s voice and feel the feeling of butterflies in his body and move. but he doesn’t and it gets too lonely for him to handle. his friends don’t visit him anymore. the visits from his parents are lesser and shorter than ever before. he thinks it’s for the pain to feel a little less painful and it won’t hurt as much in the heart when he goes.

it gets a little to surreal when he thinks of what’s going to happen after he’s gone, after they turn off the monitor. nothing, absolutely nothing, he determines. because to think about it, he’s considered dead in the first place. (except he’s not, and only wufan knows that.)

(all that’s in chanyeol’s mind is that,

it hurts. it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.)

the day comes faster than chanyeol can spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious—he still doesn’t know how to spell the whole thing, too.  they allow his family to say final words, but for once, chanyeol doesn’t listen. they’re clichéd, all sugarcoated and it seems stupid that he had expected more.

“are you guys ready?” the nurse asks.

everyone nods.

if it hurts (“wait!”) this much, it must (“don’t do it!”) be love. wufan, i love—