The body in the bed is still except for the soft rise and fall of breath. Beeps in the background remind him that, for now, he’s still alive. The doctors walking in and out of the room don’t bother him as much as they used to, because he knows they’re just trying to help, even if he disagrees with their methods sometimes.

  Months of his boyfriend being in and out of the hospital have Kyungsoo used to the uncomfortable plastic chairs and disgusting slop known as food. Most nights, Kyungsoo sneaks in pastas and baked potatoes because it’s his favorite next to fries, which he only brings in once every two weeks. Sometimes the guys will come over with pizza and icecream.

  “Ah, Kyungsoo,” the deep voice startles him from his thoughts. He looks up at the man in bed, fighting back tears at the state he’s in. “Have I been asleep long?”

  Hours.                                                                                                                                                   

  “Just a few minutes,” he tells him, leaning onto the bed to kiss his cheek. “You were asleep for a five minutes.”

  “Don’t life,” the man chuckles, “It’s been hours, I can tell time.” He pulls Kyungsoo onto the bed, laying him down next to him. He wraps an arm around his waist and nestles his head in his shoulder. “Not much time left. I’m done for, ‘Soo.”

  The words are not said with remorse or anger, but with content. He’s dying and yeah, it’s painful, but it’s not like he can stop it, stop the cancer from infecting his body. It’s better to acknowledge he’s denying than to deny it, even if it pains the ones he’s around. There’s no point in denying it, no one can escape.

  “Oh, Chanyeol, you’re up,” Dr. Lee walks in before Kyungsoo can say anything. He walks to the rubes he’s connected to and checks the bags of clear fluid. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like ,” Chanyeol shrugs with a smile on his face. “A little but hungry, but what else is new?” Their eyes meet and he knows he’s about to hear something gloomy, sure to dampen his mood, but he doesn’t stop smiling. Next to him, Kyungsoo raises from the bed to stand across from him. “Can I eat before you tell me this? I can tell it’s bad.”

  Dr. Lee shakes his head, and Chanyeol pouts. “Your white blood cells are lessening,” he starts out, reaching into his lab coat and pulling out a pair of glasses. “We found fluid in your lungs, we need to drain it right away. We assume there’s about a pint, we hope it’s no more.”

  “When do you plan on draining it?” Kyungsoo asks.

  “Tomorrow, eleven in the morning,” the chair creaks as he leands forwards on his elbows, “Chanyeol, you’re quiet. That’s unusual.”

  A smile is still planted on his face, but his eyes are a shade dimmer. “Oh, I’m just thinking about what I want to eat. I think I want to see the guys tonight. Icecream party?” he nodded to himself, like he was making the decision when it was really the doctors choice.

  The doctor sighs and pats his knee, “We’ll be here at eleven tomorrow.”

  The doctor leaves and Chanyeol turns to Kyungsoo with a grin, “Can we have pizza?”

  Kyungsoo rights the urge to cry, yell, scream, and nods, reaching for his phone. “What ever you want. How about a shake, too?”

  “Humm,” Chanyeol tpas his chin with a thoughtful expression on his face. It’s always been amazing that he could still be happy when he’s slowly dying. “Nah, I want a cone.”

 

  Jongin and Yifan are the first to arrive with cans of soda, Jongin tossing one at Chanyeol who catches it with little effort. Baekhyun, Jongdae, and Minseok come a little later, and Yizing and Joonmyun trailing in a little later. Sehun and Zitao come with boxes of pizza, one cheese, one meatlovers, and one spring vegetables. Half the meat lovers is gone by the time Luhan walks in with two boxes of cones and three pints of icecream.

  “I hate traffic,” is what he says when he walks in, dropping the icecream on Chanyeol’s feet before embracing him. “What have they been feeding you? Eat some icecream.”

  Chanyeol laughs, shrugging. “Give me a cone.”

  “Here, we’ll let him eat,” Jongdae pushes him away and goes through the plastic bag. “Chocolate, strawberry, or rocky road?” He tops each pint and holds a cone. “All?” He grins at him and Chanyeol gives him a thumbs up.

  Kyungsoo slaps the back of Jongdae’s head, hissing, “If he vomits tonight I will skin you.”

  “Soo, I’m fine,” Chanyeol plays with the blanket gathered in his lap. “I’ll have two scoops.”

  “No, that’s not-”

  “Strawberry and rocky road.”

   Jongin pulls him into a corner, forcing a slice of pizza in his mouth. “Stop corrying, hyung,” he tells him, a steady hand on his shoulder. “Let him eat all the ice cream he wants. The guy deserves it, don’t you think?”

  He knows he needs to give Chanyeol more space, more room to enjoy himself during his last few months. Leaving him alone is something he can’t do, though. He has to stay by his side. Even leaving to shower makes him worry. His last breath could happen any minute, and the thought of not being with him when he dies makes him sick to his stomach. The death impending on his is close, closer, closer. Every second really does count.

  “Yo, Soo,” Jongin pats his cheek a few times, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You need a break from all this. Go home and let me stay tonight. I’ll call if-”

  “I can’t.”

  “Kyungsoo.”

  “I can’t!” Kyungsoo’s voice rises and the room goes silent. He’s aware of the eyes watching him, ears listening. “The idea of leaving him alone, being apart from him, makes my heart stop. It’s a constant struggle between do I risk going to pee or stay with him. Constant nightmares of that beeping stopping and I wouldn’t,” his voice breaks into a whisper, “holding him.”

  His breathing is rough and shallow as he notices everyone, sees the tears staining Zitao’s and Luhan’s cheeks, the glisten of tears about to fall from Yixing and Baekhyun’s eyes; but all he see’s is Chanyeol playing with his blanket, looking down as if he’s ashamed. He feels his heart breaking into piece by piece as tears fall onto the blanket. The insistent beeping of the machine picks up by a beep.

  Yifan pulls Kyungsoo out the room before he can apologize and watches as Baekhyun goes to comfort Chanyeol like he should be doing.

  Yifan sits him down on a bench, pushing his shoulders back against the wall to keep him from slumping. “Jongin’s right, you need a break.” He forces eyecontact, shaking his shoulders. “You’ll stay with me tonight.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “There’s no room for discussion,” Tifan almost hisses, and Kyungsoo can’t figure out why he’s angry. “Chanyeol and I already talked about it. You’re coming hom with me and you’re not coming back until you’re in the right mind to be around him.

  “Bull!” Kyungsoo stands up, pushing him. His anger radiates off him in waves, forcing Yifan back, back, against a wall where his back bangs painfully against it. “I’m not leaving him alone, not for a second.” He turns away from him turning on his heel before turning to face him again. “Do you even understand this fear? Do you even know-”

  Yifan points to the window peering into the room. Chenyeol’s cheeks are wet and he’s staring at Kyungsoo with his eyes wide, mouth open. “You’re scaring him.”

  His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight, almost drowns in it. He doesn’t realize he’s being pulled away until he elevator doors close and he can’t see him anymore. In his mind the image of Chanyeol’s lifeless body in a casket flashes. He visibly flinches and he stops breathing, but Yifan pretends not to notice.

 

  It’s been a year since Chenyeol was diagnosed with cancer, about how long they thought he’d live. The doctors said they caught it too late, it had already spread considerably through his body.

  Chanyeol was on chemo for four months, hair falling out in tuffs as he vomited over the edge of the toilet. He lost fifteen pounds by the end of the first month, thirty by the second. His skin was a pasty colour, almost paper like but not as easy to tare.

  There were constant trips to the emergency room, sometimes coughing up blood. He was moved permanently to the hospital after eight months, the doctors insisting that at this point they needed to keep good watch over him.

  There were days when Chanyeol voiced he wanted to die, the words landing him in therapy because the words were concerning. Kyungsoo went with him, listened to him cry to a complete stranger that was supposed to help, but how could anyone help cancer?

 

  Doctors even couldn’t.

 

  Kyungsoo dreams of the time Chanyeol proposed. He was sent around the city in an already paid for taxi, finding clues that would help him find him.

  After hours he found him in front of the library fountain dressed in a tux. Their friends flanked either side of him. Chanyeol took his hand as he knelt down, smiling nervously, second guessing himself.

  “Two years ago, we met here,” he began, clearing his throat a few times. Around them, people stopped to watch. “You were dressed in a red turtle neck and black pants, and you looked… I don’t even know, gorgeous doesn’t cut it.” He brook eyecontact to look back at the fountain behind them.

  “I was in a rush and I bumped into you and you fell into the fountain.” The people around them laughed, “You tried to help me up, but out of annoyance, I pulled you in with me.” More laughter. “We exchanged numbers and hung out the next week after texting everyday. I was never as connected with a person.”

  He guestured to their hands intertwined,  “I don’t think we met on accident. I don’t think our hands fit perfectly together for no reason.” His voice dropped, shy. “I don’t think I’ll ever love someone as much as I love you.

  “So, Kyungsoo, man of my life, will you marry me?”

  The crowd went silent, waiting for an answer. Kyungsoo felt blood rushing in his ears, heart pounding far too fast to be healthy. The answer was on his tongue, but he couldn’t say a thing. Instead, he dropped to his knees, cupping Chanyeol’s face and kissing him.

  The crowd around them bursted into applause, a few catcalling. Their friends threw flower petals at them, Yifan and Sehun throwing the whole basket at them when the kiss lasted too long.

 

  Two months later Chanyeol was diagnosed with cancer.

 

  The doctors came for Chanyeol earlier than they planned. The fluid in his lungs contained more cancer cells that could spread.

  Chanyeol is dropped back in his room at noon, Baekhyun and Jongin each asleep in a plastic chair with their heads on his bed.

  That’s how Kyungsoo finds them at once, still passed out across each other and Chanyeol asleep with his head tilted to the side. The tv plays softly in the background, a show he doesn’t recognize, but the little characters on the screen somehow reminding him of Zitao and Sehun.

  He places a brown paper bag by their heads, filled with croissants and muffins, and a jelly doughnut for Chanyeol. He sets three drinks down on the small table, his own in his hand.

  There’s a third chair on the other side of the bed and he sits down in it, silently sipping his drink.

  Baekhyun stirs awake first, giving him a concerned look that he pushes away with a gesture to the treats. “Oh man, I see why he dates you,” he moans as he takes a sip of his vanilla frappe. He rummages through the bag and pulls out a muffin, biting into it. “Jongdae never buys me this stuff.” Crumbs fall off his lips and into Jongin’s hair. “Hey, I’ll break up with Jongdae if I can date you.”

  “No, you won’t,” Kyungsoo chuckles, giving him a look that should be stern but only ends up humourous. “Jongdae cares about you, stupid.

  Baekhyun huffs, blowing more crumbs on Jongin as he stirs awake. “Okay, okay, the four of us. Deal?”

  “No way,” a voice that isn’t Jongin’s rumbles and they both freeze, turning to look at Chanyeol who grins sleepily at the two. “I don’t share well. Soo’s mine.” For good measure, he grabs his shoulder and pulls him down to kiss. It’s languid and dirty, all tongue invading mouths. “Mine,” he says after he’s marked his territory.

  “Gross, don’t do that where I’m sleeping,” Jongin stretches, shirt pulling taunt over his chest. Baekhyun reaches over to pinch his with a smirk. “Byun Baekhyun!” A loud smack echoes in the room when his hand slaps against the back of his head. “How’d you like it if I pinched you there, huh?”

  Baekhyun leans on him, batting his eyes at him. He lowers his voice an octave and says, “I do think I would like it.”

  Large hands pull Kyungsoo down next to him. Chanyeol’s fuzzy head settles on his stomach. His hair never fully grew back, instead deciding to sprout out in random tuffs that Chanyeol hates but Kyungsoo thinks is cute.

  “Oh, right, Chanyeol,” Jongin speaks through a croissant, “University said you need to have your test done by tomorrow. I can help you study.”

  “I’ll do it tonight,” he groans, shoving his head under Kyungsoo’s chin. “I’m busy right now. You guys can go. Now, take what you want. Doughnuts mine.”

  “How does he know-”

  “Kyungsoo spoils him.”

  The conversation dies as the door closes, doughnut left on a napkin next to his drink.

  They don’t speak. Kyungsoo’s too scared to say anything and Chanyeol is making no effort to start a conversation.

  What he said last night was out of line, he knows that, but he needed to be said. A weight has been lifted off his shoulders because he knows the others understand a little more how he feels.

  “You didn’t sleep last night,” Chanyeol notes, voice so quiet he’s not sure he heard right, but then he continues, “The bags under your eyes are creators.”

  Kyungsoo laughs, “Like you have any room to talk.”

  “I know.”

 

  The sound of vomiting and the smell of spoiled milk wakes him up. He gags. The sound of heaving echoes from the bathroom, and he hesitantly makes his way to the bathroom.

  Chanyeol kneels over the toilet, emptying his stomach with tears streaming down his face. Kyungsoo kneels down next to him, hand rubbing down his back soothingly. He flinches with every dry heave, feeling his stomach do flips.

  Everything is quiet when it stops and Chanyeol slumps against him, shuddering. “I guess the end really is soon, huh?” He jokes in a whisper, sweaty forehead pressed against his neck. “There’s no use denying it, Soo,” he continues when Kyungsoo opens his mouth. “I’m really sick. Like, sicksick. And that’s okay. I’ve accepted it. And you should-”

  “There’s still a chance you’ll live!”

  “Five percent,” his laugh is dry, “Five percect. The odds are not in my favour. But it’s okay.  I get to spend my last moments with you. Promise me that, when I’m dying, you won’t watch.” Tears slip from the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want you to see me like that. Please.”

  Kyungsoo pulls him tighter against his chest, clinging to him. “Chanyeol.”

  Blood lands on his neck, trailing slowly from Chanyeol’s, and he goes limp in his arms.

  “Chanyeol! Hey, Chanyeol! Dr. Kim! Nurse! Someone! Oh, god. Chanyeol, please. Help!”

 

  The soft rise and fall of his chest is comforting, the low buzz of the oxygen machine eases the tension in his shoulders. “Only a few more days,” Dr. Kim told him, “That’s all he has.”

  But it’s been a week and Chanyeol is still here, still alive, and Kyungsoo has every god to thiank for his fiancé being such a strong fighter. He thanks the sun, the ground, everything, because he runs out of people to thank.

  The doctors watch on in remorse as Kyungsoo sits next to Chanyeol and talks, even if he can’t talk back. He reminds him of when they had their first date –at a restaurant outside of Seoul where their friends wouldn’t bother them- and what they ate –they shared chicken alfrado- and when they kissed –under a tree when it started raining- and what it felt like –fire works.

  It doesn’t matter that he’s too weak to talk to hold his hand. Keeping him in his arms is enough for Kyungsoo, even if the doctors like to tell him not to get his hopes up because he’s only getting sicker. It stings to hear it, he knows it’s true, but he wants to stay hopeful. There’s always some chance that he’ll live, that they’ll get married, that the cancer will just leave and never come back.

  But that doesn’t happen.

  Chanyeol was laying in his arms when his breathing picked up. He shuddered, flinched, sound of pain echoing into the air around him.

  Doctors pulled him away, pressed needles into his body and breathed into his mouth. Things only got worse as Kyungsoo watched from behind, tears staining his cheeks but not yet crying. It wasn’t over yet, it can’t be. It’s too soon. There has to be more time.

  He fights against a nurse holding him back, wanting to cling to him, desperate to hold him and never let go.

 

  The beeping stops.

 

  Everything stops.

 

  As if in slow motion, he crumbles to the floor, clutching onto the nurses coat and the last shred of hope he carried. He screams until his throat hurts, cries until his eyes are permanently swollen. The doctors let him stay in his room after Chanyeol is taken, and he cries on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried in Chanyeol’s favorite blanket.

  His friends pick him up later, Yifan and Jongin wrestling him out of bed and Yixing carrying him to the car. Zitao and Baekhyun cry in the back, stifled sobs and chokes escaping their throats. No one says anything.

  There’s nothing to be said.

 

  Baekhyun and Jongdae speak at his funeral, both his closest friends before they met. Baekhyun talks about his curly hair days in highschool and hoe he spent hours on each curl, laughing though his tears with a slide show of Chanyeol through his years Minseok made projecting behind him. Jongdae explains the pranks he pulled on the teachers, the creativity that went on in his mind and that and how he was never caught.

  “He never complained about being sick,” Baekhyun finally tretches into dangerous waters. “He accepted it, didn’t feel bad or make other feel bad because of his misfortune.” Jongdae wipes tears off his face with his thumbs. “It’ like it never effected him. Of course, it did.

  “But he was so strong. He knew he wouldn’t get better, but he kept fighting the hardest he could because he knew we needed him.” There’s a pause where he takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “He cared about us when he should have been caring about himself. I don’t know what that says to you,” Baekhyun raises his voice, “But, to me, Park Chanyeol was the strongest man I have ever known.”

  Kyungsoo is in a numb haze, standing in front of Chanyeol’s grave long after the funeral ended. The others linger in the parking lot, waiting for him. There is nothing they can say to console him, countless attempts quickly being thrown in the trash.

  His heart hurts, his eyes are swollen, his throat is raw, his chest feels heavy, his knees weak; everything hurts. He’s spiraling down in a dark well of instability and theres nothing that can pull him out.

  Chanyeol is the only thing he thinks about, only thing he dreams about. Sometimes he dreams of what the future would have been like with him still alive, if he hadn’t gotten sick. Sometimes he dreams reply his death, only bloodier, gorier. He wakes up crying every night, but he’s never alone because he hasn’t been home since before his death. The guys all stay at Zitao’s house, where he wakes up surrounded by living friends that do nothing to ease the pain.

  His days are spend in Chanyeol’s large hoodie that still smells like him and lose pants he took from Joonmyun. He sits on the floor by the window and doesn’t move. Luhan brings him meals, but they give him space, only popping in to make sure he’s not crying and occasionally trying to conversate with him. Kyungsoo always gives them an empty stare, the only thing in his mind Chanyeol’s smile, Chanyeol’s hair, Chanyeol’s laugh, Chanyeol’s eyes, Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol.

  No one talks to him about Chanyeol.

 

  Kyungsoo drops to his knees across Chanyeol’s grave, not caring about the dirt staining his suit pants. For a moment, he lets himself pretend he’s here, arms wrapped around him saying it was a joke and that he’s really alive. He talks, asks Chanyeol where he went, why he left, he misses him, when is he coming home. He creates a fictional Chanyeol who was never sick, who’s still here, who holds him every night and calls him silly for ever thinking him dead.

  But the fictional bubble pops every time he comes to terms with reality. He’s left feeling broken and alone. Chanyeol was the light that he believed in, but without him, everything is dark and there’s nothing to brighten him up. He’s unstable without him.

 

  Chanyeol comes to Kyungsoo in his dreams and cries with him.

 

  After a month, their friends approach him, cornering him by the window he’s been spending his month by.

  “We’re going through his things,” Jongdae starts, “What to keep, donate, throw out. We think you should help.”

  “You can’t wear his hoodie forever,” Baekhyun comments, offering a shrug. “At least grab a few of his shirts before we do.”

  Kyungsoo stares at them blankly, almost focusing on something past them. “I miss him,” Is all he says, “I’ll never stop missing him.”

  “We underst-” Jongdae is cut off.

  “No, you don’t,” Kyungsoo’s voice is shrill, load, a shriek. His eyes are narrowed and it’s the first sign of emotion they’ve seen from him in weeks. “Until the person you love, the person who means everything to you, is dying and you have to watch, you won’t understand! And I hope and I pay that you will never understand.

  “Because you stop caring. You don’t want to live anymore. Sometimes you can’t breathe the pain is so strong. You don’t want to understand. You don’t want.”

  The anger on his face quickly dissolves into grief as his body wracks with uncontrollable sobs that shake his shoulders. He clutches onto the hoodie he’s wearing, desperate for something of the man he loves to cling to, and finds it still smells like him. It was the last thing he wore before he died.

  Yixing drops to his side and wraps him in his arms, pulling him close against his chest and smoothing down his hair. The comforting words do little to calm him, but he holds onto him like an anchor because he needs something stable to keep him grounded, even if that something isn’t Chanyeol.

  Minseok kneels in front of him, hesitantly holding out a piece of paper in his palm. “He gave this to me and told me to give it to you when I thought you could read it. I don’t think you’re stable yet, but,” he slips the note into his hand, smiling sadly, “I think it’s time you read it.”

  He opens the note and sobs harder.

 

  My Kyungsoo,

  If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. (Minseok does good to keep his word, yeah?) Don’t be sad, I was barley alive. It’s better this way. I’m no long in pain, and you shouldn’t be either. Don’t let my absence bring you down.

  We had fun, right? Every second of everyday was good, even the fights.

  I’m so weak, Soo. I’m scared. Not for myself, but for you. I know this is hardest on you –you’re the only one who hasn’t accepted it yet- but you have to be strong. Not for me (though that would be nice), but for yourself. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve happiness. You deserve to be happy, so, please, be happy. Be happy so you can live, breathe, have the life I didn’t get enough time for.

  We’re lucky I made it his long. We should be thankful for the time we’ve had together, as little as it was. We shouldn’t be shedding tears of grief or sorrow, but tears of joy that we lived, that we survived. Because even if I didn’t, you did, and that’s all that matters to me.

  You’re asleep next to me with your head in my lap. I don’t think you meant to fall asleep, but I’m happy you did because now I have time to write this.

  Soo, you’re so beautiful. Even through the tears, you’re beautiful. You’re strong and I’m so so happy I got to meet you, fall in love with you, before my time was up., We had it good. Out love lasted long than others thought it would. Our love will last longer than anyones. Our love is eternal, it will not stop because I’m I am no longer there; it will keep going.

  Don’t forget me, but don’t grieve over me.

  Never forget our love, Kyungsoo.

  Chanyeol.