The view of the ocean is magnificent. It’s early morning still, but there’s enough sunlight to make the gently rippling water glitter like jewels. Pockets of white and golden light mix in with blues and greens, and travel on into the distance, meeting with the clear sky. The breeze is cooler than an average Spring morning, but it’s crisp and refreshing. With such dazzling scenery ahead, he forgets that he’s standing on a bridge, the sounds of rush hour traffic blaring behind him. He blocks it all out, and focuses on the beautiful morning in front of him. Everything from the clouds, to the colour of the sky, to the clarity of the water below him – it’s perfect.

It’s the perfect place to die.

Kim Himchan hasn’t led a pitiful life, to any extent that he’s aware. He is a bright student, class president, talented, with a decent face and a lot of friends. He always makes sure to be friendly, and to smile a lot. He’s friendly to everyone, even the people he’d rather not be friendly with. He smiles a lot, even for people who never return the gesture. Nobody’s asked him to do this; he does it because he knows he should… So why doesn’t anybody else do it? He gives and gives and gives – supporting his classmates, studying hard, helping around at home – and the world around him takes without a second thought. To everyone he’s ever known, he has always been Himchan the Mood Maker, and the moment he tries to be anything else, to simply be Himchan, they turn away in denial. He does not exist except as a bubbly, playful boy. Nobody knows about the other sides of him, his hopes and dreams, his fears and insecurities. Nobody’s really bothered to ask, and now even Himchan himself has forgotten what they are.

They don’t care, no matter how much they say they do. It’s all an act. Nothing is real. People don’t show their true colours to anyone, and because of that they’re being suffocated. Everyone is suffering alone and others will never know about it. He used to be able to ignore it and try to live on. For years he’s tried to be strong and acted as if everything was okay, but it’s getting tiring, this business of faking and living amongst the fake. Himchan is tired. That’s why he wants to end it all today.

He’s been thinking about it for a long time. Perhaps any other person would’ve been afraid to ponder one’s own death with such solemnity, but Himchan no longer has anything to fear. If loneliness and false smiles and empty words are all life has to offer, then he’d rather not make an effort to stay alive.

He left the house in his uniform this morning, in case his parents or neighbours got suspicious. He crosses this bridge on the way to school every morning, so it’s normal for him to be here at this time. Everything about this is unremarkable; his breathing is calm and his features expressionless. It’s unlike the loud, flashy version of himself that he shows his peers. He sets his bag on the ground and steps towards the railing. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t think of anyone or anything before his last moment. There’s nothing for him here, nobody. He begins to hoist himself up over the rail, feeling the caress of the breeze in his hair and savouring it. He wonders if he’ll be able to feel things like this in death. He hears the sounds of cars behind him, and bicycles and their bells ringing.

No, it’s just one bike, and whoever’s riding it is ringing their bell more frantically now. It’s almost annoyi—

The next thing Himchan feels is the impact from the bicycle, and the shock and pain of being knocked off the rail onto the sidewalk.

Everything hurts when Himchan tries to get up. His arm is a mess from skidding across the ground, and he can imagine all the other scrapes and bruises he’s probably got. He can hear the cyclist hopping off their bike and running toward him.

“Sunbae! Are you all right?”

Himchan looks up at the person who’s approached him. It’s a boy wearing the same school uniform that Himchan is. Something is familiar about his gentle manner and timid smile. He’s met him before. The boy kneels beside him and tries to dust him off without aggravating any of the scrapes and cuts Himchan has acquired.

“Thanks,” Himchan tries to say, more out of habit than gratitude. It comes out as a growl that’s low in the back of his throat. He doesn’t really want to thank the kid, because after all, he’s the reason why Himchan is lying here in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop in time. I was afraid of running late so I was going a little faster than usual.”

He groans as the kid helps him sit up properly. “Don’t worry about it, uh…” Himchan knows that he knows this boy’s name, but his mind is drawing a blank.

“Moon Jongup,” says the boy bashfully. “You probably don’t remember, but you showed me around school when I first started.”

Ah, yes. Himchan can vaguely recall it, though it has been a year since then. Students from the second year class were assigned a first year student for the first two weeks of the school year. Himchan’s job was to show Jongup the way things worked in high school, help answer any questions, and other such things. Jongup was a strange kid. He would turn up late to their meetings, often disheveled as if he’d been through a tornado to get there, and he was really quiet. He’d simply smile and nod at everything he was told, and Himchan couldn’t help but wonder if the kid actually understood anything. He seemed pretty vacant most of the time – once, Himchan had arranged to meet up with him at lunchtime to help answer some questions. He’d given the boy clear instructions on how to get to the library, where they were supposed to meet, but instead Himchan found him behind the gym cornered by a bunch of boys from the second year. If it hadn’t been for Himchan being fairly well respected amongst the students in his class, Jongup would’ve been beaten to a pulp. After that, the kid seemed to pay more attention to his surroundings and was more responsive in general. It seemed that he’d learned his lesson.

At the end of their two weeks together, Jongup had unexpectedly given him a ninety-degree bow in appreciation. Since that time, Himchan saw him around school every now and then, but they never spoke to each other. Sometimes, though, Himchan would catch him staring, waiting, as if wanting to say something to him. He never did though, and whenever Himchan glanced in his direction, Jongup would look away and pretend to be doing something else, though his beet-red face never failed to betray him.

Himchan nods and acknowledges him by name. The boy smiles in response, but says, “Will you be able to walk, sunbae?”

With a groan, Himchan tries to stand and find out. Just as he thinks he’s okay to stand, his ankles give way and he collapses again, fortunately caught by Jongup’s surprisingly strong arms.

“That won’t do,” the kid says softly. “You’ll have to get on my bike.”

He helps the older student back to the bicycle, picks up his bag, and after a bit of fumbling around, manages to get them both on the bike. Himchan’s whole body aches but he’s still able to weakly protest, “You don’t have to take me, I don’t—”

“There’s no time, sunbae.” Jongup checks his watch. “We’ll get detention if we’re any later!”

They take off in the direction of their school with Jongup pedaling as hard as he can, given the added weight. Himchan sighs. This is not the way he expected his perfect death to turn out.

When they get to school, Jongup carries Himchan to the nurse’s office on his back. Himchan feels his muscles move beneath his thin uniform shirt. The kid is definitely stronger than he looks. He places Himchan gently down on the bed in the infirmary and, instead of waiting for the nurse, he grabs the cotton swabs and antiseptic and proceeds to clean Himchan’s wounds on his own. He applies the antiseptic to the scrapes on Himchan’s arms, knees and cheek. His touch is deliberate but gentle as he bandages the broken skin.

Himchan feels safe being close to him, but upset. If Jongup hadn’t crashed into him, he wouldn’t be returning to this school full of posers and pretenders. The kid’s brought him back to the