It’s just a typical meeting between two friends, two friends that haven’t met in over a year, that is. A camera is recording the two as one leisurely flips through a novel and the other picks at the cake in front of him. Their names are Jaejin and Jonghun: Jaejin, a famed novelist that has gone on a year hiatus and Jonghun, an average person, working as a freelance photographer. If you were to ask them what they were doing, Jaejin would reply with a whimsical smile and Jonghun with an equally baffled expression. Jaejin had contacted Jonghun after a year of no contact and requested that he come down with his camera to record an event, but Jonghun doesn't understand the purpose nor the special event Jaejin has been talking about. He continues to stuff the pastry into his mouth as Jaejin continues to flip through the small novel.

So far, their conversation has only consisted of a “hello” and “would you like some cake or tea?” It’s painfully awkward between the two, and honestly, Jonghun doesn’t know what to say. He knows that Jaejin has always been the quiet one out of their small group of friends, no need to push him to initiate the conversation, but he could always be wrong.

“How have you been?” Jaejin asks. Yes, extremely wrong, Jonghun thinks as the brunette pours, what he assumes, coffee into the white mug. He places his book down and brings the mug to his lips.

He frowns. “I’ve been doing fine,” Jonghun answers, stuffing more of the pastry into his mouth. He looks up and smiles at Jaejin. “What about you? How are you?”

Jaejin blows into his mug, attempting to cool the hot liquid. “Okay,” he finally answers.

There’s an awkward air between them despite their long years of friendship. Jonghun and Jaejin are close. They aren’t as close as Jonghun and Hongki, who is his best friend, but they've rarely had such an awkward conversation. It’s always a comfortable conversation between the two, and Jonghun enjoys it, but considering the fact that Jaejin hasn’t contacted anyone in a year, of course it’s awkward. It was a shock when Jaejin had contacted Jonghun out of the blue, asking him to come over and to bring his camera along to record something.

“Just okay?”

Jaejin hums and nods. He places his mug gently onto the table, next to a glass vial filled with a clear liquid. He picks up the novel and opens the book to the previous page he was on. He scans the page, looking at each word with care. “Just okay,” he says nonchalantly.

Jonghun sighs. He looks at the trinkets scattered across the table and plays with them, flicking them across the table, watching them bounce against the cups. Jaejin’s vagueness is frustrating; he’s disappeared for so long and yet he isn’t doing anything to explain the reasons for his disappearance. His eyes wanders to Jaejin’s face. He looks the same, but there are those small differences from when he last saw him. His dark hair that’s usually neat is messy, dark circles decorate his eyes that now lack the warmth it used to hold, and his skin is a sickly pale. It worries him. Has Jaejin been taking care of himself? Is he attentive of his own health? The questions nag at him. He wants to ask Jaejin if he’s been healthy, but he feels like now is not the time.

Jonghun bites his bottom of his lip. “Are you sure you’re just okay?” he asks, “I haven’t seen you in a while and—“

Jaejin carefully turns to the next page. “How long has it been?” he asks, cutting off Jonghun’s sentence.

The man frowns. “A year, exactly a year since we all last heard from you.”

“Time flies,” Jaejin mumbles, not looking at Jonghun, eyes focused on the small printed font in front of him.

A couple more minutes pass, and Jonghun can do nothing but anticipate for what Jaejin might say next. Jaejin folds the corner of the page and closes the book. He places it on the table and finally looks up at Jonghun, giving him a small smile, one that lacks emotions, the feeling that used to also bring a smile to Jonghun’s face, like his eyes. The questions nag at Jonghun again, but he tries to ignore it.

“How are Hongki and everyone?” Jaejin asks. He lets out a chuckle, “they’re probably dying to grab hold of me and take turns strangling me.”

“They’re doing great, actually,” Jonghun says, forcing a laugh. “Hongki managed to land a place in this troupe.”

“Seriously? That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, also Seunghyun and Minhwan finally opened their café,” Jonghun adds. “You should come and visit them; they make a killer americano”

Jaejin lets his smile fall into a small, sad one. “I can’t. My hands are full, and I have a thing or two to finish,” he sighs. “I’ll think about it, though.”

Jonghun looks at Jaejin with a baffled expression. What’s more to complete? Wasn’t contacting him the last thing he was supposed to accomplish. He disappears for a year, finally contacts him asking him to come over for some afternoon tea and to bring his camera to record an unknown event. A lot can be accomplished within a year, what more was there to do? What was the unfinished business that Jaejin desperately needed to complete? Jonghun wants answers, but there’s a premonition that he won’t get them until it’s far too late. He feels like this will be the last time he would see his friend, this won’t be the last time he sees the novelist, right?

“I’m still going to at least see you, right?”

Jaejin shrugs, “maybe, maybe not.”

“You’re always so vague.”

“I guess it’s one of the traits of a famed novelist, mysterious and eccentric.”

Jonghun laughs, “if that’s what you say.”

Jaejin gives Jonghun a pleasant smile. “You didn’t tell me about you. What have you been doing while I was gone?”

Jonghun rubs the nape of his neck. “Just taking pictures as always.” He gives Jaejin a lopsided smile. “I’ve been hired by a fashion magazine to shoot models, idols, actors and entertainers now, so no more freelancing for me.” He sighs, “it’s a change from the usual landscape, flowers and nature I always take pictures of.”

Jaejin chuckles, “I remember you secretly taking pictures of me, but I caught you red-handed.”

“I wanted to capture your happiness and keep it in a little picture,” Jonghun explains. “I’ve submitted some of those pictures in a contest, won first place.”

Jaejin’s face scrunches up. “Without my permission? That’s a violation of my privacy.”

“You didn’t seem to mind. You’re always lost in your thoughts and day dreaming, and when I asked you, you just gave me a nod and stared at the clouds.”

Jaejin laughs, and the room lights up with life, the dreary gloominess looming amongst the walls disappears. It’s been a long time since Jonghun has heard Jaejin laugh, it’s loud, warm and contagious, soon he finds himself laughing with the dark-haired man.

“Am I really like that?”

He nods, “yeah.”

“Never noticed that.”

“You did say famed novelists were mysterious and eccentric,” Jonghun teases.

“So I need to live up to those traits then?”

He shakes his head, “no, but speaking about novelists, have you written anything new?”

Jaejin taps a finger on his chin. He shakes his head, “nope. Nothing that could be considered publishable.” He reaches for a glass vial placed next to his mug. “I’ve been experimenting with a story though,” he adds.

“Oh? You want to tell me about it?”

“Sure, it’s about a young boy,” he begins. “He questions life, he questions the direction he’s headed towards, his decisions, basically everything.” He sighs, playing with the small glass vial placed next to his mug. “He begins to question everything: friends, family, acquaintances, whether they liked him or not. Whether he was worthy of their time or not—he questions everything. He’s just sailing through a storm of what’s, if’s, why’s and how’s.” His mouth quirks into a sad smile, as if he knows something that Jonghun doesn’t. “He’s all alone on a small boat, questions crash at him, he’s drowning in doubt, and eventually he becomes too lost in the what’s, if’s, why’s and how’s. No one knows about his whereabouts, his thoughts, his inner turmoil, and he isolates himself. He isolates himself in the small sailboat and ends it all.”

Jonghun’s at loss of words. What could he say? The story is a dose of harsh reality of what people think—is that what Jaejin thinks? How can he know? All he can mutter out is a pathetic, “that’s depressing.”

Jaejin shrugs and opens the glass vial, staring at the contents within it. Slowly, he pours it into his coffee, letting the clear liquid fill up the mug.

“What’s that?” Jonghun asks.

Jaejin smiles at Jonghun and stirs the liquid. “It’s an artificial sweetener,” he answers. “Coffee was a bit too bitter for me.”

Jonghun frowns. Jaejin has never liked his coffee with sugar, or any type of sweetener. “Don’t you usually drink your coffee black? You hate drinking coffee with sugar; there isn’t even an ounce of cream in there.”

“It’s been a year,” Jaejin replies. “Things change.”

Jaejin places the vial—empty save for a couple drops left—next to his mug. He picks up the coffee and stares at the dark liquid. He begins to bring the mug up to his lips, but Jonghun stops him before he can take a single sip.

“I’ve been wondering, is there any reason for you to ask me to bring my camera?”

He looks at Jaejin with anticipation, hoping that his unanswered questions will be answered. The questions he’s been blindly groping for answers for the past year, anything, even a one word reply would do him good. Desperation and hope clings onto him as he stares into Jaejin’s dark, somber eyes. The gloominess starts to creep back into the flat, the room seems no longer bright and cheery as it was just a while ago. The sudden change in atmosphere scares him, the tense air strangles him, the nagging premonition becomes more apparent, but he feels like all he can do is sit and wait for his friend’s answer.

Much to Jonghun’s anticipation, Jaejin laughs instead of giving him an answer. He smiles into his mug, trying to suppress another fit of laughter. “To capture my last moments,” the brunette says with a whimsical smile. He brings up the mug to his lips and drinks it, slowly finishing the apparently sweet, dark liquid.

Jonghun can only stare at him with a baffled expression. Questions still unanswered bloom into even more questions. Last moments of what? He wasn’t going to go back into hiding, was he?

“Jaejin,” Jonghun calls out. “You’re not going to go into hiding again, are you?” His eyebrows furrow together. Nothing was clicking together in his mind, it was infuriating. “Is it your last moments being in this flat?” Jaejin places the mug softly on the table, contents within it all gone. “Don’t disappear for a year again.”

A smile still graces Jaejin’s face, edges of his lips curved upwards, and he shakes his head. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” He lets his eyes wander from Jonghun’s questioning eyes to his lap. “You can say I’m going into hiding again though.” A pause. “I’ll just be gone for a while,” he ends with a cheery tone, looking up at his friend, “that’s it, just taking a break from everything.”

“Don’t do this, Jaejin,” Jonghun begs. “Everyone was worried when you disappeared.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, “this is so unlike you; you’re rarely like this.”

He wants to grab Jaejin’s shoulders and shake some life, some sense into him. He wants to scream at him, he wants to curse him, he wants answers. Jaejin, once again, is being vague, being so cryptic. There’s nothing solid for Jonghun to stand on, and the brooding feeling in the pit of his stomach isn’t making anything better. He doesn’t want to lose his friend again, anything but that.

“I miss you, I miss the friend that laughed and joked around with me. Everyone does. Hell, even Min misses you, and you know how she is.” Jonghun searches Jaejin's eyes for any signs of life, any signs of the man he once knew. “You’re not yourself anymore. Where is the Jaejin I know?”

Jaejin laughs, he laughs once more, but rather than lighthearted, it’s empty, hollow, lifeless, drained. “Gone,” he simply says. "That Jaejin is gone.” His long fingers trace the edge of his book, his movements languid. They’re slow and loose, he doesn’t seem to be able to hold himself up anymore. “I’m just tired, Jonghun, I’m tired of this imperfect, corrupt world.”

Concern etches Jonghun’s face.  “Jaejin—“

Jaejin cuts Jonghun off. His voice is calm and steady, almost drowsy. “Jonghun, there isn’t anything to live for anymore. I’ve lived the same routine of writing novels, publishing them and clinging onto a small strip of hope that fame will just drop down at my feet, and it does.” He takes an intake of breath. “Reviewers call my novels emotional, breathtaking, a tearjerker. They make readers experience emotions, from joy to sorrow, the empathy that surges through the readers for the character. They get irritated over a flaw in one of the characters, they sob over the internal conflicts, the character’s thoughts, but in the end the character’s life ends just like that. With a small period and a simple sentence. The protagonist is still suffering, but I end everything with a simple dot? I don’t want that.”

He stares straight into Jonghun’s eyes. They’re dead, empty, the small spark of warmth that was lingering when he first arrived has left. “Life is just a novel, Jonghun. I want to end it—I am ending it. That’s what I’ve been pondering about for a goddamn year. Why do I exist? Do people truly love me for who I am or for my works? I’m doubting myself, I’m lost at sea, no one has reached a hand out to me yet, and it’s far too late, I’ve sailed too far. No one seems to pay any attention to me, so I just decided to isolate myself, just to think, but I’ve come to this conclusion.”

The story sounds oddly familiar, almost identical to the novel Jaejin has been working on. He tries to shake off the thought, but it continues to nag at him. It just couldn’t be; it’s just a mere coincidence. “Jaejin, doubting yourself is the worst thing you can possibly do. Just don’t think, stop thinking,” he says, trying to comfort his friend.

“I’ve stopped thinking, I’ve stopped thinking right when you stepped into my flat,” Jaejin says. “That’s why I called you to film my last moments. It’s still filming right?”

Jonghun nods, giving a wary look at the camera aimed with a professional precision at the two.

“Good. I trust you, Jonghun, even more than Kibum or even Woohyun or Min.”

Jaejin’s eyelids slowly droop down. He nods off a bit, and Jonghun can see his physical struggle just to keep his eyes open and to keep his head up, staring straight into his eyes. All for Jonghun’s sake, to continue talking, to explain himself. “Everything is ending today, my chapter, my life,” he says slowly. There’s a small smile on his face. “You’ve been a great friend.”

It is exactly like Jaejin’s novel. “No,” Jonghun whispers. “No, Jaejin, don’t.” He stands up, pushing the chair back with force, staring at his friend with wide eyes. “Don’t go."

“I’m sorry."

“I’ll miss you," Jonghun pleads, "I’m here for you, it isn’t too late.”

“As much as I’d love to cling onto your words,” Jaejin closes his eyes and slowly opens them, “I sadly can’t.”

“It can’t be too l—“

“It is.” Jaejin lifts his hand up slowly, pointing at the small vial. “That has taken care of everything.”

“Jaejin, you—“

Jaejin gives Jonghun a last smile. A smile filled with the lost warmth Jonghun had been longing for. It was the last smile he saw from his friend’s lips before he had isolated himself, and now it’s his last. Jaejin’s breathing begins to slow, to strain. The energy he had when he greeted Jonghun at the door has disappeared.

And with a last breath, he’s gone. Jaejin’s figure slumps into the chair, his head lolls back, and he looks at peace. The chapter ends, of the boy in the sailboat, and everyone returns to their normal routine.

The video stops, paused at a beautiful shot of his friend resting in a chair. He looks peaceful, deep in an eternal slumber. Jonghun stares blankly at the screen. He looks over at the empty chair that once occupied his friend and the table still cluttered in trinkets and the empty mug that stole Jaejin’s last breath. Jonghun leans back into the chair and rubs his thumb against the screen.

He stares at the empty space in front of him. He wonders when it happened, when everything went wrong.. Regret settles at the bottom of his stomach, he could have prevented this from happening, but would that make Jaejin happy? A sigh escapes and he stands up. The chair screeches against the wood paneling, he places his camera into its case, zips it and slings it over his shoulder. He pushes in the chair, takes a last look at the flat and walks towards the door, hand gripped on the silver knob. He turns it, opening the door and steps out of the room, the door shuts with a click and he doesn’t dare look back.