Jongin’s legs dangle from the rooftop of his apartment building.

He had hoped for too much, expecting Kyungsoo to run after him and hug the ashes of his bodily remains.

Kyungsoo has his own life, and in it, Jongin is nothing more than an added burden—a childhood calamity that clung on for a little bit too long; a forced friendship through years and years of obligation.

No, Jongin didn’t deserve a friend like Kyungsoo.

He also didn’t deserve the daunting echo and endless fog that swung through the creases of his skin.

So, from tonight till the day Kyungsoo breathes his last, Jongin will leave.

Because Kyungsoo should get to live as he pleases.

Because Jongin is a tragedy, bound together by a human heart and fragile mind.

Because, somewhere deep inside the numbness of his soul, Jongin was hoping that Kyungsoo had cared enough to ask,

“Jongin, how are you?”

❖

You never really appreciate what you have until it’s gone.

That’s what Kyungsoo realises as his body slumps hard against the concrete slab of walls and their peeling skin—an array of blending spray paint colours swirled into a daunting echo that consumes the blotches of ageing grey.

When he craves so much for the immortality that never cuts deep enough to fill his veins. When he spends every waking minute of his life submerged in a carefully plotted map of lines and traces and steps he will take. When he counts every failure that has woven itself into a blur of flaws, haunting him day after day.

When he’s in too ing deep to realise that he has built a tower of thoughts around himself—too deadly for even Jongin to climb.

Kyungsoo wishes he had stopped counting his faults from the day he discovered the meaning of perfection. Then maybe, he would have been bothered to notice Jongin’s paling skin or his broken smile or the trembling wrinkles in between his bony knuckles.

Or maybe he would have noticed that something was wrong when Jongin left with a goodbye instead of goodnight.

So many nights he had spent crying himself to sleep and wondering why everything bad seemed to happen to him.

But eventually self-pity would run out and Kyungsoo would be faced with the repulsive linger of regret and guilt—of a new intimidating emotion of why-hadn’t-he-stopped-Jongin-why-why-why.

And Kyungsoo will frown as the day passes on into merging rays of the sunset, his ignorance and pretense bound together by the tight grip of a torturous mind.

He will cower in the presence of night and blinking traffic lights

and the world moving on without him.

❖

He hated it.

He hated the eroding hours of time burning through his raw flesh. He hated the excruciating ache of his own cowardice.

And as he strode past the crowd, lining himself up behind a steel hover of gates, he can’t help but to hate himself the most.

Because he cannot remember what Jongin looked like.

Or what Jongin smelt like, when he cuddled with him in bed—heavy arms sprawled across the other’s chest.

Or how Jongin’s fingers felt like, when they danced across the curve of Kyungsoo’s muscles.

Or how Jongin’s lips tasted, when they met with his—or when they trailed across his collarbones, with inches of Kyungsoo’s length immersed in a sea of butterfly kisses.

Oh, those butterfly kisses.

Butterflies.

Kyungsoo almost gets lost in his broken memories, just as the gates swing open and a thousand people flood into an empty field.

A stretch of horizon and sunset lay brittle upon the dust of earth. As the field sweeps on, Kyungsoo lays eyes on the familiar clear of the beach—separated by the soil in between his toes and the distance strung out between the salty seawater and the sky.

Families set picnic mats on the grass and whisper incoherent words of blissful ignorance; couples hide under the shade of trees and absorb into each other’s touch.

Kyungsoo sits cross-legged and stares at the cursive mess of his handwriting, which settles carefully on a piece of folded paper:

Jongin
The Keeper Of Childhood

Because it was true, Jongin held the fragile remains of childhood in the palm of his hand—the carefree hours of a thrilling life, the nonchalant whistle of a playful adolescent.

And—Kyungsoo hates to admit it—but for a brief moment, he had forgotten the sparkle that lit Jongin’s eyes; he had forgotten the searing grip of childhood around his tiny frame—how good it had felt to let himself go, a curling spiral of heaven he could actually feel under his dusty fingerprints.

And with Jongin gone, Kyungsoo is left with a thousand forsaken memories—most of them he only remembers as a blur, with Jongin’s soft mumbles and the rest, he can’t remember.

He can’t remember because he never bothered—because Jongin usually remembered them for him.

And Kyungsoo has tried and tried his hardest to recall even the slightest glimpse of Jongin’s smile.

Or maybe he just hopes that somehow, if he prays hard enough, Jongin would stand in front of him again—a smirk and a wink, like it was nothing at all.

But Kyungsoo will have to wait for Jongin, this time.

He will wait until dusk falls over his skin and brushes him with blatant echoes of time.

He will wait until everyone counts down, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and blaring cheers will exhume the thousand stars that rise from the dirt—their glowing bodies illuminating the night with prints of searing orange and red and yellow.

Kyungsoo holds a tiny star in his hand (he doesn’t call them sky lanterns anymore); a small candle flame flickers in coiled rays of light—and the star glows with a sandy blend of light.

He waits until the sky is almost clear of all the other lanterns, before pushing his star into ascent—a trail of fervor following the words written carefully on the lantern paper:

Jongin

The Keeper Of Childhood

And although Kyungsoo regrets the times he has forgotten, he knows Jongin will love this—the lingering scent of fire and flames hanging thin in the air, the haunting stars that will float into nothingness.

He just hopes that his star will reach Jongin.

He hopes Jongin’s ghostly palms will hold it, snug and gentle against the clouds of heaven.

He hopes that Jongin will look at it, and know that Kyungsoo is truly, genuinely sorry—that Kyungsoo would give anything to spend even the slightest moment wrapped in the arms of Jongin.

That nothing will ever compare to the guilt that consumes the path to Kyungsoo’s very soul.

And that, to make up for the thousand moments that he had once taken for granted,

Kyungsoo will make a thousand more.

❖

A/N: Jongin suffered from depression—he believed that his presence was only bringing Kyungsoo misery. But, in fact, Kyungsoo was the cause of his own misery because he was too absorbed in attaining perfection, to notice that his best friend was slowly slipping away from him.

I hope that clears things up:)