“Open your eyes my dear friend, for this is my return from the world of light and winds. Hold my hand, oh dearly beloved, for may those winds I saw fly us away, and that light washes away our sorrows…”

Kyungsoo looked at the window, his patience slowly drying away as his eyes were fixated in the sky— the empty, grey, and sad sky.  He opened the window, and the wind gently caressed his cheek while he closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the woody smell, opening his arms at the process. Kyungsoo waited for the wind to take him over, wishing for the dream of flying away to finally come true; but he was snapped out of his trance as a cough fit made its way into his body, forcing him to collapse into the chair and cover his mouth, watching the blood fall from his hand at a passive pace. Drop, drop, drop.  If he was to put attention on it, he would have been able to find the resemblance between the blood dripping of his body and the fluid ticking of a clock, marking each second of life as it left his figure, almost as an ironic mock. He didn’t care enough as if to take his medicine, because Kyungsoo was already tired of leaning on things, feeling like a burden.  It took Kyungsoo a few minutes to regain his composure, and when he did so, his eyes darted around the plain apartment he lived at.

White. Plain white that surrounded him no matter where he looked, white that trapped him on four walls, white that outshined his figure.

He hated that color.

He thought: I should be thankful I did not paint anything, after all, I will be gone in nothing… Kyungsoo heaved a sigh and continued to wander around the apartment until he got to his bedroom. It was a clean white place, its walls standing as pillars, supporting the degrading soul of the boy. It reminded him of the hospital rooms, the ones he hated, but somehow there was a bittersweet feeling tingling inside of him. There was nothing, as in Kyungsoo’s mind: only a bed, a drawer, and a closet. In front of the few items inside the room, was a big mirror as a replacement for the wall, and the insight of the reflection he saw trapped his eyes—a young men of twenty-one years old fading into a shadow, with no light left. He looked away, running far from the reality shown in the mirror and stared at somewhere only he knew his eyes falling into a dead point, as hollow as his heart. 

There was nothing left in his life; the death, his longing friend, would receive him with open arms, hugging the wingless angel.

The monster growing inside of him stretched even more, darkening his lungs and his mind as well. It was impossible to be ridden of it, consuming every single breath he took, that dreadful disease gnawing more and more of Kyungsoo as the days passed away. That night his soul cried, and so did the angels that surrounded their pained brother, the lonely moon being the only witness of misery inside the white room. And he fell asleep, noiseless, peacefully.

{…}

His eyes fluttered open, a scared look replacing the usually sad one in his face. The whiteness that surrounded him contrasted with the black in his eyes, the color of the death, and with the bloody red that painted his sheets. Closing his eyes, he thanked whoever took care of him that night. He knew that he was supposed to die that day. He could see it in the whiteness, and the red that stained it. How much he wished he died just so he could avoid seeing those plain white walls again, the ones that reminded him that he was confined to that hell. 

He's just standing there, watching in horror the stained sheets. Watching, and waiting for something to happen. 

Someone is knocking at the door. Pulling his act on, Kyungsoo forgets for a few seconds that he is as drenched in blood as his bed. He opens the door and stares at the person in front of him.

Tall.

Blonde.

Mesmerizing eyes that stare back at him. Eyes with a different black, a black that is not his, a new black. In his white world, this man showed up with the most beautiful eyes that Kyungsoo had seen. They seemed to sparkle with a flame that tempted him into the unknown. For the first time in his life, he had seen the outside world, that constant wish to achieve the most and become the best; that constant happiness and the small sadness from the bad days. He saw it all through those black eyes.

And then he finally heard the voice of the man with the eyes.

—Mr. Do? Hello, I am Jongin. The Hospital sent me after you called, I'll be your private doctor from now on.— He spoke solemnly, just like the look in his eyes and Kyungsoo could only nood at him and let him in, completely lost in his mind, suddenly remembering why he had called the hospital.

The past night he had  a coughing fit that didn't allowed him to breath. He had walked slowly, each step he took more painful that the one before, and only himself to carry with that pain. He had picked up the phone and smashed the only number he knew by memory, each button being pressed with less force than the one before. And he had whispered, between his panting and his burning lungs, a single word before falling, completely unable to breath.

"Help"

Just before his eyes stood his help, this person who for him was only another stranger, had probably left his home really early so that he could be in that place by the morning. He wondered, how much many was he payed to do so? Most of the times someone came to him and told him that same thing, he could see in their eyes greed and he was disgusted. Those people, who had more than he could wish envied him just because of something as miserable as money.

But this Jongin person seemed different from them. He looked like he genuinely wished to help him. And Kyungsoo was too confused by that. He knew nothing about what the normal people did, what they wished and how they were.

He hated that the most, beyond doubt.

Kyungsoo was what the people called a special kid. He had been born with a misterious sickness, one that the doctors could not cure. There had been a failure in his immune system and a strange virus that was inactive in every other person was woken up like a beast, slowly eating him from the inside. He was told that he could never live more than thirteen years, yet he was there, already eleven years of being supposedly dead. A decade of issolation, in a castle built for a dead person. He could understand the finest technology, he could discover the greatest marvels in the universe, but he couldn't understand the human life.

Because even when he lived thirteen years with the society, he could only go so far. Limited by more white walls, the little Kyungsoo only knew what he heard his father and mother talking about: business, economy, exclusive parties, etiquette, courtesy and the hoax that they used to go to the top.

He was a child trapped in a world of grown ups, engulfed by the shadows that the important people casted: They weren't honest at all. Liars! Hypocrites! They were all faking behind those nice smiles and candies and toys he was given. They were just trying to buy him like he was a piece of land.

It was the only thing they knew how to do.

I tell you this story not because he became a hero for the world, or because he miraculously cured and spent all his life saving kids that had his same sickness. I do it because I miss him, and I don't want to forget him, because for the time I was next to him he was not only my friend, but my teacher. I tell you this because you need to know about the man who died and had not a single flower in his grave, yet he never hurt anyone, and he taught me more than I could have learned in any university.

My name is Kim Jongin, and this is the story of my best friend Do Kyungsoo.

A/N: This is the first chapter, as you guys read, Jongin is going to be the narrator. Angst. YAY.

This is R.Park and don't forget to comment, subscribe (if you would like to do so) and upvote (if you think this is worthy of being upvoted ofc)