Summary: Fleeting words caressed his bare skin, the spear of her statement wedged in his thoughts, provoking, sifting – momentarily stunning him. Although, she lacked venom or malice in her crude phrase, the validity of her notion was all too clear. Unsure of how to respond, he looked to her, further confused by the gloss of her eyes. Careless of her well-being, he had kept to himself in this dream-like state, idling around as he pleased, never maturing, never growing. Was it any wonder she grew tiresome of his wayward, jumbled mess of emotions?
Pairing: Jongin/Minji - KaiMinzy
Word Count: 5768

Stripped

The constant utterances of loyalty and truth had flowed freely, smoothly off his pink tongue, the sentiment genuine and etched in the core of his eyes – his soul. Of what he had promised, he found he could not keep.

Fingers laced under his scruffy chin, he hunched in the velvety armchair of their desolate home, his irises unfocused on the scuffed hardwood floor. Chills racked his emaciated body, the shudders involuntary and mighty, the heater system crammed in the farthest recesses of the nearby storage. Great was his need for warmth, but little was his motivation to retrieve it.

Idle in this thoughts, he roved the ground despairingly, the gleam of a lens ensnaring and haunting him. 

In the stillness of the morning, silence shattered only by the gruff interruptions of his raspy throat and incessant coughs, he slumped in his chair, his camera forsaken under layers of dust beside the toe of his shoe.

“I’ll be there for you, Minji-yah, I promise.”

Droves of snowflakes pelted his thick, blonde, springy locks and thoroughly frosted his cheeks, his skin flushed and shaken. Uneven steps strode on a winding path past withered trees and sodden bark, the green trash bin settled on the public park’s grounds his sole interest.

With a gravity seemingly unlike his usual cheery self, he sifted through the pack slung over his shoulder, dry, cold fingers tugging out the edge of an instant camera. Solemnly gripping the object, he prepared to chuck it into the disposal and cease its existence and purpose in his life, but his focus wavered and found a target of interest.

Needlessly devoid of coherence, he rubbed the lens and raised it to his murky eyes, arms steady and supportive for clear magnification.

A slight click startled her amused features and prompted her to hastily rearrange her untidy clothes and unruly hair, the display unbefitting of a nurse, and release the previous flower in her grip to the roaring winds. Tying her loose red-tinged curls into a misshapen bun, she gave pause and cocked her head to the source of disturbance.

Emanating a sort of humanistic quality of joy, a camera was poised to capture her in its array of shots and flashes. The optical instrument, an instant camera, was of an older model, but recent in the flood of technology. Scrutinizing the form of its guilty captor, he cautiously edged out from behind the twinkling device, his head shaggy and speckled with white snowflakes.

Sincerely, albeit cheekily, he murmured a rush of an apology for his unnecessary and unwelcomed intrusion. “I’m sorry! I should have asked for your permission, but, you were just so radiant - I sort of lost control.” Tentative of her outburst, he smiled thinly and adeptly fiddled with the instrument to provide her with proof of her alleged mesmerizing still, except, it whirred noisily and prolonged the process of displaying the photograph.

Futile in his attempt and wary of ulterior motives, she hastily turned and headed to her second shift, her arm tight around her bag in case of assault.

“Ah, wait! I want to show you-!” His breathless, certainly amazed, tone seized her by surprise, his legs scurrying to reach her. “You were incredible. Have you any experience in photo-shoots?” Gaunt cheekbones and dark hues were the first of his many attributes to reel her in, his desire to continue speaking evident in his spastic mannerisms.

Successfully matching her quick pace, his succeeding jaunty behavior dissipated upon noticing her lack of equal cheery countenance. Induced with a nervous slur, he shyly continued, “And, I mean, wait. I should still be apologizing, shouldn’t I?”

Quirked brows becalmed his raging heart, an aloof boy suddenly in place of the uneasy man. The corners of his mouth tugged in a foolish smile that seemed to stretch for miles and miles and, despite his rude behavior, she could not willingly condemn him.

Sighing, she breezily replied, “Its fine. Will you excuse me, now?”

Elation once more had a hold of him, his features twisted into an expression somewhere between joy and relief. Frivolously waving to the young woman in white, he crowed his farewells.

Wiping the forming sweat on the tip of her forehead, she proceeded to adjust her striped cap atop her scrunched curls when her hand froze at the abrupt, yet familiar, click resonating throughout the scarce park. Slamming her hat onto her visibly disturbed features, she begrudgingly glanced towards the origin of the banal sounds, the young man she chanced upon a week ago hovering near with his camera intact and hardly amusing or appealing to her disgruntled eyes.

She grieved the loss of her serenity.

Practically airheaded and full of gusto, he crooned, “Minji-yah!” As she had been drilled with discipline from the precise minute she could crawl, informalities tended to grate her nerves and wear her patience. Although, her name was not altogether unpleasant emitting from his set of timbre chops.

Reckoning he had foolishly mistaken her name for another due to her lack of response, worry seeped into his next round of statements. “That’s your name, isn’t it? I could swear your uniform had a name-tag with ‘Minji’…”

In spite of the aggravation he proved to be, she affirmed the title with a drawl. “Yes, it’s my name.”

Ignorant of her pointed looks, he happily chimed, “Ah! I’m so glad! Minji-yah, I’m Jongin. It’s nice to meet you.” Grinning toothily, he extended his hand to her, a gesture that ventured onto acquaintances and entailed friendships.

Elusive of most relationships, especially those which bordered on intimacy, Minji tensed, curled fingers adamant in returning the motion. Expectantly smiling, his palm outstretched carefully, he awaited her reply optimistically.

She pegged him for an imbecile and yet gripped his hand and stunned them both.

Unknowingly, he pestered her, bouncing on his heels as he accompanied her en route to school and hospital, her errands becoming an adventure of sorts for him, his camera never quite far behind. Although, she had surmised he embodied idiocy and the mentality of a five-year old, she permitted him to join her, her thawing heart aligned with the notion she could acquire a friend in this uncanny relationship.

She might have retained sparse knowledge on his personality, but she knew he would have kept a distance from her if she had wish of it.

Bubbling with queries for his newfound companion, Jongin entrapped her numerous times on their first few outings, his voice dripping with honey, his eyes oozing with sweet curiosity. Restraining the urge to bludgeon him, Minji answered him offhandedly, sometimes not at all.

But he had scrounged up several facts: she aspired to be a nurse, thus explaining the white uniform she donned the day he met her, she worked as an intern for the local hospital, and she still attended school.

A simpleton, but a gentleman, he did not pry into the confines of her life. Barely acquainting herself with him, she had no questions with which to topple him with.

The usual tranquil stream of visits to the hospital were skewered with the addition of Jongin, his profound marveling at the scenery reminiscent of a stupefied child. Balancing his interests with his camera, he switched between awe and disgust, helplessly admitting his fears and confusion.

“So, that’s how a syringe works!”

In the increasing amount of time they spent together, mostly consisting of her trips at the hospital, he grew comfortable enough to unleash his boyish opinions and spirited heart - he would ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ to the point where she would again question the true nature of his age and state of mental health.

“God, that is revolting. I don’t see why we can’t invent better tasting medicine, it would make everyone’s life easier.”

During a blood transfusion, he had a slight mishap, his skin paled considerably and his knees buckled, but he had remained steadfast till the end. After the procedure, he retched freely in the men’s restrooms, catching Minji off guard by the result, her noggin gnawed by guilt.

And he had emerged from the facility flushed with red hues, his mouth wiped clean of the residue and content. Unusually so, he had smiled, beaming foolishly and acutely aware his pearly teeth scorched her sight.

His smile fell when she graciously provided him a towel and promised to avoid similar predicaments to keep him from being unwell.

“You’re so tender Minji-yah, you know that?” He grinned, his arm dealt a fierce, deserving punch.

On the surface, she appeared hollowed out, shirked of positive attention, and meaningful relationships – fully intentional on her part. His lens discovered a sweeter side to her shrewd persona, a shy, lonesome girl unable to relay her emotions properly.

Smiles were rare with Minji, however, his expertise with his camera managed to photograph stills whereupon she was absolutely stunning in spite of her lacking joy. Every time the pair crossed the park to reach the hospital, she hesitated, irises flickered over to patches of flowers and clumps of grass – things which he could not comprehend for her dazed demeanor. Her lips would purse haughtily, her body demanding to roam where it wished. He never got around to asking why.

And then, there were her patients.

If she could maneuver her facial muscles into a smile, it would have been broader than humanely possible. Contradictory to her cold heart, she lit up around the people she aided, their names etched in her memory. Recognizable to them from a distance, the relationship was clearly mutual and personal, evidence of her ability to befriend others.

Minji was never happier than when she was working – that much he could see and capture.

But could she see it and believe it herself?

“Minji-yah,” The sharp edge of his tone astounded her, his voice keen and bent on appraising the situation. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday last week?”

Twirling the short ends of her bob in her fingers, she attempted to evade the information, her private life far from his clutches. “Ah, Sandara asked if you could be our unofficial photographer for Junho’s birthday this Thursday. He always wanted pictures of his own-.”

Jongin stepped closer to her, his nose looming above her eyes, his words gruff, “Minji.” His decision to ditch the term of endearment expressed his anger and hurt, her lips stolen of a reply. “Did your friends celebrate it with you, at least?”

Lips parted in open surprise. “F-friends?” Composing herself in a matter of seconds, she peered past wisps of strands in her view, a sliver of sorrow and regret lingering in her soft retort. “I don’t have any friends.”

Gently, he brushed aside her bangs.

“Don’t you have me?”

Several months into their unique bond, she had grown accustomed to his presence, his shoulder, and his hands familiar to the touch as he twirled her in his arms for Junho’s birthday.

Endless flack had met her deadpan mannerisms and she had once suspected of him to hurl the same insults, however, he merely crumbled the clichés and stereotypes she had presumed of him. He had been sweet, hearty – never forceful.

For sport, he tried to rile her shackles and rouse a grin or laughter from her and while the outcome was not exactly what he had hoped to achieve, he had been content nonetheless with her minute smirk and hoarse, stifled groans.

Spewing her name like a mantra, he would chirp, “Minji-yah, Minji-yah, Minji-yah!” The camera glued to his skin would rapture her and engrave her in the tombs of his memories.

And he would cement the priceless moments with a surplus of smiles, his cheeks strained from the effort and exertion.

By the end of July, of which their time had traced from last December, she decided this insufferable man was not entirely rotten and possibly valuable.

Tied to her in infinite ways, he persisted and nagged her to share the approaching holiday of Christmas with him, his conscience wary with abandoning the Gong to her quiet walls. He had long since guessed she lived alone, the why or how aspect never occurring for him to ask. Nosing along beige walls, which perfectly matched her simplistic qualities, he occupied the empty halls of her home with his eccentric antics and nonsensical chatter.

As a touching gift, she hoped to supply him with homemade treats, preferably cookies, before he arrived, but her skills were severely lacking in that department, thus, concluding in her buttered, dusted cheeks when he stepped forth. She would have kept her cool, alas, his camera emerged in the worst of moments (as always).

Swatting his camera from snapping a shot of her degrading appearance, Minji hissed, “Jongin, will you ever put that camera away?” Her glare shifted from his sly features to the fractured lens of his device.

For one who could not successfully keep the words flying from his mouth, he hesitated, his choppy sentences hardly audible with the sudden soft spike of his tone. “No,” He paused, swallowed the dryness in his throat and felt along the contours, scratches and dents of said object. There was an underlying importance for his constant retrieval and usage of the instrument, but his reasons failed to filter through. “Ah, It was…it means…”

Sensing the misdirection of the conversation, Minji hurriedly quipped, “Why do you like photography?”

Grinning from ear to ear, the shimmer in his eyes restored, he breathed, “It’s incredible, don’t you think?” Satisfied by his answer, she nodded and beckoned him to continue, her head atop the overlap of her arms on her knees. “A push of a button is all it takes to capture and retain a moment – you can keep records of anything, be it a video or photography. The resounding loud shutter informs you of your greatest accomplishment forever to be remembered and engraved in time.” Reiterating his prior exclamation, he shuddered, “It’s incredible, don’t you think?”

Glimpsing down to the irreplaceable camera in his cradled hands, she considered his sentiments and rasped, “I suppose so.” Receiving a genteel smile from his childish features, she felt her own lips form a gesture of similar value.

Comically sputtering, Jongin rearranged his unhinged jaw, the picturesque Minji igniting a memory of old to resurface. He sputtered none too gracefully, “Why did you smile?”

Silently, she assessed the precise moment in time in which she had smiled and which he had referred to.

December dew had rested on the fields of bladed grass, the color washed, faded, the petals and stems of surrounding flowers dried and withered – all but a few. Startlingly so, one particular blossom mattered to her and remained intact, thereby asserting her presence in the park. Skimming the top of the strap-shaped leaf, the waxy coating, the alternately arranged leaves of bluish green of the stem – she could practically feel it this second. Violet hues sprouted in a patch of tulips and she had been privy to the sole survivor in the December chill.

Why did you smile?

Reflecting on her actions and reviewing her answer wordlessly stirred the nerves within Jongin. Misinterpreting her quiet, glum appearance as regretfully treading on private matters, he made to retract his claim, his tongue fumbling over his crude manners. “Oh, don’t, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to! Wow, I bet that came off insensitive. , don’t answer that-.”

Ripped from her reverie, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, the sight of his jittery form sparking a new wave of thoughts and opinions. He had generously kept from encroaching on the most personal side of her life and made do with what she gave him – merrily as if she had told him everything.

He had been kind, he had been sweet, he had been her friend.

Cloaking her face with the use of her bangs, she hunkered down to her knees, croaked, “My mother had been a nurse in her days…” Dismayed by the prominent frailty in her tone, she willed the strength to press on smoothly. “Um, she actually used to work here, in this town, in the exact hospital I volunteer in. And that had been her favorite spot – the park. They had such beautiful tulips, it wasn’t much of a wonder why they had become her favorite of flowers.” 
Unnecessarily transitioning to low, hushed timbres, she whispered, “She always brought me with her, especially at the park. She loved it so much.” Minji brought her eyelids to a close, inhaled, exhaled. “Watching the flowers, walking through the park, it all makes me feel like she never left, you know?”

Bracing herself for ridicule, she snuck a peek at him, her nose curiously bright and red. Her heart had been left freshly dripping on her sleeve – the display ripe for picking and shredding.

A slight shake of his head confronted her hazy vision.

“I know.”

The broiling tension within her pacified to a lull and she thought, perhaps, she could accept someone past her barricaded heart. Intently seeking the comfort of his hand voluntarily, she clearly grabbed him by surprise, the white of his eyes perceptible to scrutiny.

Squeezing her offered palm reassuringly, he murmured, “I’ll be there for you, Minji-yah, I promise.”

It had felt like a dream – the few years they had spent together and shared.

Threading her hair with tulips, he received the pleasure of bountiful smirks, ghosted smiles, cheeks flushed and lips shied. Officially more than a year since they had met and intertwined their lives, he had cracked her fortress of stone and permeated her frozen heart with warmth he seemed to ooze from his pores.

It was easy then, sometimes rough in these new, undiscovered tendencies, but simple nonetheless. Pursuing a career in photography, he had less time to spare for her, but on the nights he could, he assisted her in school, work, and whatever appeased the trembles of her aching thoughts.

Essentially, he had become a pillar, an anchor she had not been aware she urgently needed. Flashes and clicks meshed with her daily life and flooded their endless outings.

They had blossomed and established a sort of intimacy during the process of crumbling her walls. She would rapt his nose, he would flick her ear, and she would kiss his jaw, he would kiss her cheek.

His smiles were what she lived for.

After a lengthy span of solitude, she could admit she had reached the pinnacle of happiness, her figure floating above despair and dread. She had been quite happy and she had suspected he had been, too. Jongin had always looked to her with such love and care in his eyes, how could she have thought differently?

Reaching their second year, he had made sure to devote himself to celebrate her birthday and honor her mother’s passing, among other special days of importance to her. And she had done the same for him.

In his foolish attempts to rid her of sorrows and cheer her, he donned the silliest of attires and acted the idiot of his generation. To ensure her safety from those dark days, he did anything and everything he could for her – her sanity was the clear contender of his glee. Instructing her on baking was his first resort to simmer her pessimism and it ended with kisses and laughter each time.
Aiding his quest for his dream of a photographer, she diligently supported him and pulled all-nighters to see his mouth crease into a smile in the wee hours of the morning succeeding the completion of his latest project.

Passion embroiled the duo into rolling and tumbling on the white sheets, his scent and lips overwhelming the senses and overriding rationale.

A love was borne from their friendship.

There were instances whereupon she wanted to learn more of him, to know him just as he knew her and every patch of skin on her body, but he was a keeper of secrets till the end.

She had stretched her sore limbs behind her and casually referenced his family. “Christmas is coming up, again. Do you want to spend it with the family?”

Heavily distracted, he had scratched the back of his disheveled head and groaned in exasperation, “Ah, have you seen my camera? I don’t know where I misplaced it.”

Of course, he had knowledge of its location, but conveniently placed it where she would clearly see it and be aware of its existence. “It’s, uh, it’s by the dining table.”

Every single inquiry she had about his family or story was met with abrasive maneuvers and planned deflection – his stance rigid, his eyes hard. Usually, he had reverted to his camera for excuses, however weak they truly were.  

There had been a part of his life he deliberately had no wish of her to learn and it ate her alive.

Still, she had permitted his intrusive camera and flurry of stills and shots to garner a winning smile and shimmer in his irises. Deluding herself that he would come to her with his worries and insecurities in due time, she played to his tune and believed he had come to trust her as she had for him.

But the tumultuous relationship had not been quite so easy to bear.

Dreadfully so, they had entered a destructive cycle of despondency and distance.

Unabashed, he abused the power and privilege he wielded over her and tore his way into her life. Meticulously plucking the parts, interests, and secrets of what constructed her waned heart, he also documented the process of her dismantlement.

He just wanted to know her, he just wanted to know her, she assured herself.

His behavior could have come about as a result of wanting to grow closer to her and reduce any distance they had left as a couple – she gave way to these wandering hands.

Although, she granted him complete access to her soul and mind, he had ignored her bemused fingers, lips, and eyes, rightfully resigning himself to stony silence. Jongin would not allow her past his barriers, compelling Minji to cope with the unfair state of communication anyhow.

Days seemed endless with this estranged bond.

The brightest of his smiles had faltered with the cumbersome increase of tension, her stout pride wavering with the blotched intimacy and heartfelt gestures. Clasped hands, warm embraces, and gentle stares were a remembrance of the past.

Eventually, he began to vacate the house they had taken root as a couple, his absence spanning from mere hours to several days. Only history recalled their treks to the hospital and stops at stores and outlets, arms stuffed with knick-knacks and sweets.

Lingering in the shadows, she attempted to recount the wide girth of his smile, the effort futile.

He loved her, he hated her, he welcomed her, and he rebuffed her.

Driving her mad with his complexities, she found her energy thoroughly exhausted in this ploy of his, her heart appalled of his subsequent act.

Minji had lost track of time, of the road they walked along, her grip, somehow, tight and painful around his loose, languished wrist. Despite the change of their emotions, she had not wished to let go.

Living his life to the fullest, he charged forth with his photography, dragging and collecting photos from every place, creature, person, and object his lens could find. Disputing her insistence of obsession, he continued his hobby, hell-bent on achieving something in this wretched world.

In midst of his compulsions, he had missed her birthday that year, the cake personally ordered from a local bakery, the candles unlit, the chairs unused.

Dangerously in pursuit of pictures for his collection, he had skipped out on her mother’s anniversary, the one day of the year she could not will her lungs to function and breathe – it took every ounce of her strength to stay afloat from misery.

Christmas was also spent alone, not that she had cared much for it, anyhow.

Fingertips wedged in the corners of and forced the ends into a makeshift smile in her attempt of reflecting a glimmer of content.

She was okay.

His failure to adhere to a promise he had made a patient and fellow friend had been her breaking point.

Thrown into a fit of hysterics, she charged at him, the last of straws to be taken by the end of the third year.

He had broken his promise one too many times – all he had become were broken promises and he had never given her the benefit of understanding why. He would not let her comprehend his situation, however dire it could be, and he had grown frantic, reclusive.

What had his smiles looked like?

Ablaze with red emotions, she throttled him and unleashed a torrent of questions, her distress of their alarming predicament motivating her to finally acquire some answers. But he shoved back, hard, terrified of this feral Gong. Snarling, she stole his camera from his bags and slammed the device to the ground, her foot hovered inches from its precious design when he furiously barreled into her form and left her crumpled on the ground – defeated.
Unable to cope with the nagging curiosity, she screamed, crippled with frustration.

“Why does it mean so much to you?”

His mute stares were enough to sever her hope.

Ultimately devastated, she cried into her bruised palms and realized she couldn’t live like this anymore. 

“Aren’t you tired of this, of us, of you and me?”

Mellifluous words circled his form, grazed his skin, and provoked the gears of his mind to churn and articulate a response. But his lips were shy of a proper reply, his throat sealed, his heart shaken.
Unable to concoct an answer worthy of her ears, he looked to her, further confused by the gloss of her eyes and firm lines of .

Gently, her hand relinquished him from her grasp and dangled limply beside her body.

“I’m so tired, Jongin. I’ve had enough.”

Careless of her well-being, he had kept to himself in this dream-like state, lolling around as he pleased, never maturing, never growing – his oblivious mindset evident in the audacity he had to take one final picture.

He had given her life, only to steal it right back.

Subsequently, the images and colors began to blur and fade from his vision and lens, his mind hapless at the emerging consequence.

Jongin couldn’t see the world in shades of beauty or colors, he had fallen too deep and it was too dark – he didn’t know where to go, how to leave. The camera slipped from his palms and descended into murky depths.

Why had he allowed himself to up and lose someone so important?

He should have said something.

He hadn’t meant to lose her, he had just been so afraid, he had to brace it by himself. Couldn’t she have waited a little longer? However, her dazed eyes and taut lips indicated she had bided her time and she had been well spent beside him.

In the end, he had not been there for her and she could hardly have managed much more beating to her poor heart. His deranged behavior had not planned for him to lose everything he had worked so hard to earn.

Horrified by his impending doom, he had meant to scramble and accomplish all that he could, but he had given up far greater things.

.

What happened to the moments he threaded tulips in her hair, dotted her nose with jams, kissed her cheeks till she burned pink?

He had robbed of that, he had robbed her of smiles and love, of care and trust.

What had he done?

I promise, Minji-yah.

Four Years Later

The chime of the doorbell alerted Minji to a potential visitor. Shuffling through pots and pans, she called to her best friend and resourceful room-mate, "Bommie! Bommie, could you get the door? I'm a bit busy in the kitchen." Shouts bouncing off the walls and tumbling into silence prompted her to wipe her hands clean on her dingy apron and hurry to the front-door.

Bemused by the departing UPS truck, she quickly reached down and hauled the bulky package into her arms, the box devoid of sender but respectfully mailed to her. She tore into the flaps and slid out an envelope, a precarious thick bag settled at the bottom of the cardboard container. 

Huffing, she leaned against the door and flicked open the letter to her hungry sight, her heart strung to her stomach by the glint of the first set of words. Minutes had passed and she had thoroughly digested the piece, her pace stunted by an onslaught of tears. Harshly scrubbing her face clear of streaming droplets, she stumbled against the door and slid to her rear, her body racked with a slew of sobs.

"J-Jong!" His name, still so fresh in her mind and sweet on her tongue, could not flow out of her rapidly hoarse throat. Shuddering with impeccable might, she kicked out her leg carelessly, the box sprawling against the porch and splattering the pavement with numerous images. 

Carefully, she peeled a picture from the ground, the shot depicting the moment they had celebrated Junho's birthday all those years ago. Clutching the photograph to her chest with her crumpled letter, she cried, "Jongin."

Sifting through the pile, she had to savagely bite down on her clenched fist to restrain the piercing shrills of her voice after discovering the heap of stills were blissful times and events they had once shared. 

Mouth stretched into the barest of smiles, she hissed, “You idiot. How could I ever forgive you now?” 

Tender-hearted Minji-yah,

I've never been good with words, but for you, I'll try it this once. First and foremost, I'm terribly sorry for the I put you through; you did not deserve an ounce of my pathetic behavior and somehow you stayed. Please, if you're reading this and you're still distraught (as you rightfully should be) listen, please, listen. It's all I ask of you. Grant me this last selfish request, won't you?

I have always loved photography, since I was a child, and I had planned to pursue a career in that field. The camera I had till the day we parted had been a gift from the supportive grandfather I had long forsaken. My parents never agreed with my aspirations and urged me to change destinations, but I refused and I ran away, desperate to prove them wrong. It was a bit difficult at first, I'll admit, and I'm not sure how I survived. Smiling and laughing are easy - it was my only option to brave this sudden course I had taken. 

But on the day of my prognosis, I fell to pieces. 

I had been diagnosed with an illness, quite foreign to the ears and I couldn't tell you now if I tried, and I was told I would survive a few years at most. Do you remember the day we met? I prepared to give up the life I had because I felt I had lost everything right then and there. In my grief, I had been ready to end my days on Earth. Just. Like. That. 

Of course, that would take a bit more consideration and so I hurried to dispose of the sole thing keeping me afloat - my camera. And I would have submerged in darkness if I had not spotted you at the park. 

As silly as it may seem, you saved me that day, Minji. Your smile reeled me right in and demanded I resume control of my camera - you were so beautiful, so breathtaking. I had been born again in that moment. You saved me for many more days to come, so thank you. 

You were such a great person and a very dear friend despite your brusque personallity. I wouldn't have wanted you any either way, though. 

You were - and still are - amazing. I saw you in action, how you handled your patients and disregarded their illness and age and treated them equally - kindly, gently. You cared so much, I'm sure you do today, have you acknowledged your tender heart? Your eyes always lit up when you were working and I couldn't help but wonder if it was because you loved it so much or the fact that you had a piece of your mother with you. Probably both. 

Don't worry, no one ever thought you were snobbish, maybe cold, but that was simply because they had not been privy to your radiant smile. I witnessed it once, but it was enough to leave an impression. You have so much to offer this world, I hope you know that. 

You had given me a second chance and I had stolen the light of your eyes in exchange. 

My limit had been approaching and I lost total control. I was afraid of Death.  I had wanted to live, I had dreams and aspirations to meet, I had you and I wanted to be with you for far longer than what I had been given. But I still ran away. 

I'm sorry, Minji-yah, I know my illness was no excuse or justification for my behavior. I shouldn't have hurt you when all you did was try to understand and help.

Please, accept this last gift of mine. A treat, perhaps compensation, for putting up with my irritating . I was somewhere dark, before I met you. 
I was preparing to trash my camera the day I met you, but your beautiful smile forced my hands to take a shot. I was going to destroy the last piece of my grandfather and thanks to you, I didn’t. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I admired you, envied you. I had given up, but you hadn’t. It meant so much to me – the memories we forged. Treasure them for me, won’t you? 

I’m afraid, my time is up. I have to go join my grandfather, but I’ll be sure to inform him of the kindness you showed me. Tender-hearted Minji-yah. That’s how you should be remembered. Thank you.

I’m sorry I have to tell you this way. I was never really good with words afterall.

 Could you ever forgive me?

It’s okay if you don’t. You’ll always mean so much to me.

I love you, Minji-yah.

Thank you for everything you shared with me.

Take care and have a happy life.

- Jongin

P.S. Don’t forget to show the world your beautiful smile.

A/N: IT'S DONE. AT LAST. im free

I'm sorry for the late update, I was drafting and editing for days! I plan to take my time with these pieces, I want a lot to go into them. Not sure if that's evident, lol. Also, it would have been up earlier but holidays drained me and i watched A Werewolf Boy which tore out my heart and after sobbing for hours I managed to finish this. 

I hope you enjoyed!

Thank you so much for your support. ;u; I love you guys!

ALSO HAPPY NEW YEARS. A present from me to you, hah.