He dressed in kindergarten uniform; light blue cotton shirt and black pants. The shirt was dirtied by drops from melted chocolate ice cream and his shoulder was a little bit wet from his mother’s tears and his pants had dust of soil from the kindergarten’s playground. And someone should tell him to wipe off his snot or else it would add the mess on his attire. He was standing inside his father’s room inside his house which he loved since it smelled of warmth and love.

His family—a mother, an aunt who was his father’s sister, his mother’s brother, and his own brother, all red eyed and teary; except for the last one.

His brother kept tugging on the young boy’s shirt, repeatedly asking him what happened, and the young boy repeatedly answered patiently, I don’t know. Then his brother asked him again, hyung, what’s going on? Why is mom crying? Why is auntie covering father’s face with a blanket? And the answer was no different, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

He saw his mother holding for his father’s wrinkly hand and he heard her muttered something like your hand is too cold and he saw his father made no move to make her smile return.

Then someone came into the room; dressed in white and reeked of medicine and things that reminded him of hospital. He saw three people bawling at once at someone lying on the bed that was covered entirely in white blanket. The man—the young boy briefly recalled as Doctor Song, muttered under his breath then a tear slipped onto his cheek.

The young boy wanted to tell everyone inside the room, that father wouldn’t be happy to see them cry, that father was now at a better place, that a beauty was the one who took him and he smiled just a moment before he was fully taken.

His brother tugged on his shirt again. “Hyung, why is Doctor Song crying too?”

“I don’t know.” Actually he knew, or he thought he did.

~~~

There were some things Changmin would prefer not to know when growing up. For example: the fact that Junhyo was an adopted child from his mother’s deceased friends, that life consisted more than just living for your beloved, that every living thing would face death one day.

He always ranked in the big five in his class, had many people who praised his intelligence and beauty, and also had many people who would love to send a punch on his so-called pretty face. He had a beautiful, albeit incomplete family; with the fact that Junhyo wasn’t actually in his bloodline and his father had passed away. Once he and Junhyo pierced their fore finger with a needle and touched the wounds together—declaring that they were now had at very least one drop of same blood, which was stupid if he thought about it again now. But Junhyo’s smile that day was one of a few things he never wanted to forget.

Today, he was in the very same room where he witnessed the death of his father. On the same bed where his father was taken was his aged, frail, and ill mother. He turned off his cellphone and internet, since electromagnetic waves might be bad for her brain; the doctor didn’t say so, but Changmin didn’t want to wait until he did and it was too late.

He never wanted to force the woman to take the drugs, not ever, and fortunately so far he didn’t need to do so. Doctor Lee said his mother had gotten much better, which was why his mother was in home right now. But his claim might not as true as what he saw.

Changmin felt sick; having such experience before, a stream of thoughts and memories and similar feeling when he saw his father had to lose a leg then declared to have a serious damage on his lungs the next day—the young him shouldn’t be able to remember it, should have thought that such memory was disturbing and forget it right away. But then again, the permanently remembered memory of a human’s would be the ones that caused physical and/or emotional pain.

In other words, trauma was such a to handle.

And so, Changmin was afraid of death, of anything that took everyone away from him.

When he saw his mother’s face getting very pale and her body getting frailer, he knew his object of fear was coming close. Maybe closer than what he thought or hoped. So close that he actually wanted to leave from his mother’s room, doing his biology assignment in his own. But then his mother who was awake (Changmin wished she hadn’t, since he hated remembering how weak she was) held his hand and speaking in soft voice (Changmin was her jewel, Changmin and Junhyo, both of them, and she asked how the two were doing, and several I’m sorry for being such a burden) which stopped Changmin from gathering his books and papers and pens and just continuing his assignment in his room. Then she fell asleep again.

Day by day went by pretty much the same.

~~~

His best friend Yunho said a girl from 11-E class liked him. Changmin shrugged it off, even as she asked him openly to go to the prom with her. Then Yunho jokingly said they should go together instead, which Changmin laughed at.

He had no time for such stupid event. He had an ill mother to take care of. Yunho said he didn’t come too, so he offered to help him looking after her. Refusal was mundane, Changmin knew, so he let Yunho did as he pleased.

“Leave it. I’ll do the dishes,” Changmin said as he pressed buttons on microwave.

Yunho shrugged and left the empty bowl and glass in the sink. Both of them knew each other for long enough to know how stubborn they could be, and their stubbornness was tiring to handle. Yunho joined Junhyo who was playing Tekken in living room. The microwave beeped and the inside started spinning. Changmin looked onto the floor, hand on the kitchen counter.

Microwave food. A brother with no blood relation. A sick mother. All made him lived an unhealthy life.

He watched Yunho grinning widely at Junhyo who just lost a round. The screen had a huge player 1 wins and a man with black hair, bare chest, and weird tattoo doing what it seemed like winning gesture. Junhyo grabbed his console tightly as if extra pressure would help him win on round two. He told the elder to just press the start button to end the winning gesture clip, which Yunho refused.

This wouldn’t last forever, Changmin thought. The smile he had when seeing the two men he would happily give up his life for, wouldn’t last for long. Junhyo would die, Yunho would die. His mother would die. And he realized the game was paused and both Yunho and Junhyo looked at him with concerned look. Except that Yunho’s was closer to knowing, actually.

“Changmin—”

He waved it off, making quick steps towards his mother’s room.

~~~

Talking with her mother was painful, but he couldn’t help it that he loved her so much. It was the only time he realized how much he actually needed her. And once he learned how sad she was not to find him around when she was awake one day.

For about half an hour, he waited for his mother until she woke up. Then when she did, she smiled upon seeing him.

“I miss you, my sonny,” she said. “How long has it been since the last I called you that?”

“Years,” Changmin whispered back. He lied, of course. She never called him that. It was always his father. Or maybe she did before he could remember it. “I miss you too.”

She smiled a little wider, and it was saddening to see how hard it seemed for an old woman to do so. “How’s school?”

I just graduated. “Great. Mr. Kang actually liked the essay I wrote.”

“And P.E?”

“I played tennis with Yunho.”

He reached for her hand and placed her palm onto his cheek. Her drug-weakened hand, and gently pressed it onto his face. Right now he had to hold back his tears, as much as he could. It hurt his eyes and his whole cheek.

“I think it’s time, sonny.”

He wanted to frown, to fake stupidity by asking what time, but he couldn’t. “No.”

“It is.”

Changmin shook his head, nausea coming as well as fear and pain. He heard noises from Yunho and Junhyo’s game muffled by door and wall and he held her hand tighter. “Stop saying that.”

“Changmin ah…” she sighed and Changmin had no problem imagining it was actually her last breath. “I’m not that weak, but not that strong either to carry on living.”

“You’re cancer free, mother.”

“Yes. And you were lying, Min ah,” she said again, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your graduation ceremony.”

Tears fell, uncontrollable. Eyes hurt, vision blurred. Everything turned into dark blue, white, and black, he could barely see the difference between bed, window, wall, and mother. “Don’t.”

“Go prepare Junhyo and Yunho’s dinner. I’ll sleep for a little more.” Her smile made him cried harder and held her hand in even stronger grip. But he nodded anyway and even her hair as her eyes closed.

This. Death was coming, he knew. The scent, the air around him, the sounds and speeches inside his head. They changed, telling him to just give up trying to make his mother alive forever and accept the fact that she was dying, going to die, going to leave him alone and sad. Not completely alone, he said back, he had Junhyo and Yunho. Yeah, but for how long? This is your mother’s last sleep, they told him. Face it.

He jerked, realizing he had buried his face onto the sheets and cried his heart out for a while. He was still holding his mother’s hand, still warm in his hand. She was still alive, but for how long? But he couldn’t see her face clearly, something was blocking the moonlight.

Changmin wanted to scream. A man with pale white skin and somewhat dreary eyes was looking at him. His hand was on his mother’s face, gently. His eyes went towards his mother’s face, softening, as if he was about to pick a beautiful flower but not wanting to end its life. Not wanting. And Changmin remembered, the reason he wasn’t crying when his father died, why he regretted it also.

The same beautiful intruder who passed before Changmin’s eyes who made his father died with a smile.

There was something like hanja* written on the other’s hand, wasn’t fully visible in the dark. Said man’s clothes were white and—“pristine,” he found himself saying, couldn’t look away from the new intruder. He looked at the letters again, then to the other's face.

They locked eyes, although the latter didn’t lift his hand from Changmin’s mother’s face. Long, long seconds were their eyes on each other. Changmin didn’t want to close his eyes even for a blink, because he was afraid the other was a frail imagination, hallucination, or something more likely and would disappear if he did so but he had to. He did. The other was still there. He was real.

But then he remembered his mother. He quickly turned at her and saw if her chest was still moving for her breath. He could see her face and nothing blocked the moonlight anymore. He touched the base of her neck. No pulse. The man had gone, together with his mother.

But he feared death no more, and he didn’t forget the other’s appearance for now.

~~~

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you see?”

Changmin was scribbling on a notebook he vaguely remembered as one he used for doodling. Instead of strange pictures, illustrations, and patterns, he was writing on it, taking half a page after ten minutes. His interest in various forms of art was well known for his brother, but he never thought Changmin would just leave their mother’s funeral earlier for it.

“You left early.”

“How much?”

“Nearly an hour.” Junhyo paused. “How could you?”

“I can’t stand it, knowing mother is going to be placed underground, body rotting in a few days.” Changmin paused to rest his hand for a few seconds, and then continue writing. “We should have cremated her instead and let her essence spread onto the ocean.”

Junhyo didn’t want to continue the conversation. “At least take off your suit.” Changmin didn’t answer that one. “Yunho is here.”

“He likes Oolong tea. Go make him.”

“He wants to see you.”

“I’m busy.”

“You barely are from only writing.”

The younger sighed and went out of his room. A few minutes later, Yunho went in and Changmin could feel his presence. Yunho’s breathing pace was slower than people he knew, and he had the scent of a man, lavender perfume, and pine shampoo.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho said. “I’m glad I was there to feed her last meal, though.”

Changmin didn’t stop writing, pouring all his ideas into the paper. If he could, he would draw it instead, but words spoke more this time. “Thanks.”

“You know,” Yunho casually sat on a space of the table which unoccupied by textbooks and the doodle book, ignoring Changmin’s noise of irritation, “I saw it, your oddity for today.”

“What?”

“Where’s the sadness of a son left by his mother forever while he was there, watching his mother breathing for the last time? You left the funeral early.”

“Junhyo told me that.”

“Changmin, you love your mother. You can’t fool me. Something is going on inside that pretty head of yours.”

“Don’t call me pretty. And nothing is wrong with me.” If Yunho was silent, meant the other actually didn’t want to shut up. Changmin placed the pen and rested his aching hand from writing nearly a page full. “I let her go, that’s what I did.”

“Sure you did.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“You let her go, I believe that one. But something is still wrong with you. Did she say something?”

No. “Maybe.” Changmin reached for his pen again. “I need your help.”

“Anytime, Minnie.”

Changmin flipped a new page and wrote the hanja he saw carved on the beauty’s hand he saw last night. Wishing he didn’t mess up the order and character, he showed it to Yunho. “How do you read this?”

Yunho’s eyes squinted a little and he reached for the book to take a closer look.

“Jaejoong.”

“What’s the meaning?”

“I think it’s a name.”

*hanja: Chinese letters used in Korean language, similar to Japanese’ kanji.

A/N: Well, minjaealldway requested this and took me half a year to finish. While I write this, this dude keep telling me:

I’m very pathetic like that.