“I’m afraid I’ll be abandoned like a movie playing in an empty theater.” - Tablo

[1]

“Do you remember -”

“Don’t ask if I remember anything, I obviously don’t. And you know what’s on my mind all the time, I can almost feel you probing my mind, and it’s disturbing.”

Jongin watched as Sehun stirred the coffee in his cup mindlessly, the caramel swirls in the pool of brown coffee a reflection of Sehun’s mind that was never still, never stagnant, always moving and swirling like a whirlwind of thoughts.  The boy with chiselled looks was trying to avoid his questions again, and the last thing Jongin wanted to do was to probe the answers out of his mind that was attempting to build up a fortress against his mindreading skills.

Sehun got up after a while with the cup firmly in his grip, and Jongin shouted after him, “Don’t you dare pour the coffee into my sink! I paid so much for those coffee beans!”

A few seconds of silence ensued, and a corner of Jongin’s mouth twitched upwards into a small smile as he heard Sehun curse in his mind for forgetting once again that this boy could always read his mind.

[2]

Jongin wipes the trace of a tear away from his cheek, and Kyungsoo pours him a cup of coffee, the evaporated milk swirling mindlessly in the brown liquid.

“Sehun was a ticking time bomb, there was nothing much you could have done.”

He sees green - Kyungsoo’s mind is too easy to read, and Jongin reckons it must be because this boy has huge eyes. (Don’t they say that eyes are the windows to the soul?) Kyungsoo is like an open book to him, and that scares him because his thoughts disturb Jongin. He sees the boy’s fantasies and desires, and all of them have something to do with him. He sees movie dates and late nights under the stars; he sees coffee swirling in a cup and Sehun - painted in shades of grey, splattered with varying degrees of crimson red.

“I should get going. Kris wants me back in the office to submit my article by tonight, 1159.”

It didn’t take any of Jongin’s mindreading skills for Kyungsoo to realize that the boy with sun-kissed skin is lying.

[3]

Sipping his carton of milk, Jongin let the wind caress his newly dyed hair as he took a stroll at the pier. Kris had given him an assignment (“You are in charge of writing the cover article and all you’ve been doing is sleeping in the office!”) and he just couldn’t say no again to that giant who threatened repeatedly to squash him with his gigantic palm alone. Besides, he had already read Kris’ mind and he was very sure that if he didn’t submit anything soon, he would have to ask Kyungsoo to recommend a new job to him.

Jongin casually read the minds of a few passersby (“Hyemi I love you but how do I tell you when you’re clearly in love with that moron” “Cheolyong needs to stop being so full of himself, I wish I could tell him that in his elitist face” “I need to pee”) and chuckled to himself. Mindreading was a very entertaining talent that he had utilized well, although he had admittedly freaked a lot of people out (including himself).

“I guess this is it. I’ll finally be free.”

The note of finality shocked Jongin as he overheard the random thought, and as his eyes traced the speaker of that silent thought, he flung his carton of milk aside and ran towards the figure with outstretched arms like his life (ironically, it wasn’t his he had to save) depended on it.

“Are you insane?!”

Jongin rolled his eyes and pulled the guy back from the railings, “I should be asking you that! Who in the world even attempts suicide at the pier!” Thankfully, the guy wasn’t quite as strong as Jongin and fell into his arms as Jongin dragged him to a bench and finally took a good look at him. He had light brown hair and painfully sharp eyes that shot daggers at Jongin with every sharp intake of breath, and Jongin was surprised by the hostility shown.

“I don’t need anyone saving me. Why couldn’t you have minded your own business? I took so much courage to come down here and when I was about to jump you - and who even told you that I was planning to jump what if I was just re-enacting the scene from Titanic while waiting for my Jack -”

He rambled on and on as Jongin sliced through all that haze to see the guy’s innermost thoughts. Sehun, 22, writer, diagnosed with last stage of lung cancer, still refuses to quit smoking, has a for milk with only 8g of fat -

“Are you even paying attention to me?” Sehun whacked Jongin on the head, and the latter muttered, “Wait here, I’m going to get you something. If you try to die again I’m going to make sure the whole world knows that you still like Pokemon.”

Sehun was momentarily stunned, before he shouted after Jongin’s disappearing figure, “It’s Doraemon, not Pokemon!”

[4]

Luhan sighs again as he steps into Jongin’s house (the door unlocked as Jongin has left it one year ago, hoping that Sehun will come back), expecting the younger boy to be cooking up a disaster in the kitchen and sure enough, thick smoke billows and Jongin’s coughing is loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Stop trying, Jongin. You’re trying too hard.”

“His favourite dish was jajangmyeon, do you suppose if he’ll like it if -”

Luhan switches off the stove and stares at Jongin who shoots him a confused look. “It’s been a year, you need to stop living as though he’s still around.”

“What has Kyungsoo been telling you?” It is an unnecessary question: the images of Luhan over at Kyungsoo’s house talking about him flash prominently like a warning sign, and Jongin clenches his fists. Luhan puts his hand on Jongin’s shoulder, which the latter smacks away angrily.

“He’s not dead. He’s just gone. He’ll be back.”

White roses of untainted and unrequited love bloom in Luhan’s mind, and Jongin is taken aback as he sees Sehun smelling those roses, before turning to a stalk of sunflowers - Sehun had always called Jongin his sunflower.

“You aren’t the only one who misses Sehun, you know.”

“You don’t understand. He would never die. He couldn’t - he didn’t want me to spill his biggest secret.”

“Secret?”

“About Pokemon.”

[5]

Sehun looked up from his computer and Jongin stood before him, arms crossed.

“I want to see what you’re writing. It’s not fair that you get to see my published articles and you don’t let me see your stories."

“Be patient. I want this story to be perfect. I don’t want to let you see anything that’s less than perfect. And don’t you dare read my mind in order to know what I’m writing, I’ll delete my story if you do.”

“Say, do you still remember the carton of milk I bought for you on the day we first met?” Jongin asked as he toyed with his phone, and Sehun smiled.

“Duh I do. 8g of fat. I thought that it must have been fate that someone knew what kind of milk I liked,” a frown soon replaced the smile, “until I realized that you could read minds.”

Stifling his laughter, Jongin asked if Sehun wanted to order jajangmyeon and chocolate bubble tea, and before Sehun could jump up in excitement, Jongin had already called up the nearest eatery for food delivery service.

Sehun figured that that was probably the only perk of having Jongin be able to read his mind.

[6]

Jongin finds himself standing in front of Sehun’s grave with a bouquet of sunflowers looking about as pathetic as he is.

“You loser. You said that you wouldn’t die. Now I have to tell everyone that you like Pokemon.”

He smiles as tears choke him up, and he places the bouquet down.

“Stupid me tried to bring milk along but it spilt so the sunflowers are all white, and then you’ll say they look like snowflowers instead. I tried to cook jajangmyeon, but Luhan stopped me because I almost burned the kitchen down. Truth be speaking, I’m not sure if that was my ultimate goal.

“I don’t know about a lot of things anymore. I miss you, but at the same time I’ve learned to live half a lie. I think you’re still here with me, but everyone tells me otherwise. But you’re always here,” Jongin takes out a thick book from his backpack, and tears stain the leather-bound cover, “your words will preserve you, and our story.”

He takes a step back and remembers Sehun’s last breath as he knocked over the carton of 8g fat milk, the wailing of sirens as he was sent to hospital, the mourning that ensued for the next month until only his own silent weeping could be heard.

“You wrote that you never did tell me that you loved me, but silly you, don’t you remember that I can read your mind?”