Clean white sheets covered his legs. His lips moved, mumbling words too incoherent for anyone to hear. He occupied only half of the bed. Bare feet made their way over, sitting on the mussed side that was unused only for a few minutes. A cold index finger prodded his cheek. He flinched at the unnaturally icy temperature that made in contact with his warm skin. After a couple of pokes, he reached for the offending hand, grabbing it to make it stop bothering him.

“You should wake up. It’s already 10 in the morning,” the voice told him in its typical calm tone.

He groggily opened his eyes, blinking slowly a few times to try and focus on his surroundings. The owner of the hand looked down at him with a smile on her lips. He knew that voice, but he still couldn’t quite make out her features.

“Good morning,” she greeted him.

He groaned, covering his eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding hers, “I don’t want to get up.”

She poked his side with her right hand, “But you have to. Unless you want me to take extreme measures to wake you up.”

He thought back for a moment, remembering the one summer she dumped ice water over his head with a devilish grin in place on her face. With that in mind, he began the onward struggle of waking up. He wondered why that particular moment came into mind, but nonetheless it coaxed him to wake up. He sat up with the assistance of his arms and nearly kicking the sheets off the bed with his feet. He gave the girl a sharp look, making sure that his displeasure of being woken up was evident.

“You know, it’s your fault I had no sleep,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

She raised one back in response, “I have no idea what you’re suggesting. Unless you want to take that up with your girlfriend.”

He wondered if this was what people meant when they felt like they were being shocked, as if a current of electricity had shot through their bodies in an instant. His eyes were no longer foggy as he stared at the figure who sat beside him on the bed with a confused expression as his fingers tightened around her hand. She tilted her head, long wavy strands, the natural way her hair was when she wasn’t working since it had a tendency to obstruct her view, following her movement. As he tried to swallow, he felt like something obstructed his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. Delicate fingers combed their way through his sleep mussed hair.

“What’s wrong?” She asked with a small frown.

She looked so innocent asking that. Her eyes were slightly wide with worry, and the pout of her plush bottom lip was urging him to nibble on it until it was red with the abuse. He kept his mouth shut though, pursing his lips so that no sound would come out that would disturb the beautiful girl. She didn’t need to know what was making him choke on the bile that was surely rising from his throat, or the intense turning of his stomach that made him feel utterly sick. Because she didn’t need to know the last memory he had of her. Didn’t need to know what he was experiencing without her presence.

He had clutched the white chrysanthemum in his hand, gripping the stem so tightly that it had bent out of shape and had turned a darker shade of green where his fingers encircled it. The poor chrysanthemum looked a bit out of place in the small pile where the rest of the stems still looked as crisp as when they had been cut in comparison to the dented one that he placed before her smiling memorial picture. He picked up two incense sticks, holding the ends over a candle in order to light it and to stick it into the brazier among the others. He backed away before kneeling down to bow.

Once.

Twice.

And once more standing up; a bow at the waist.

He went over to her family, repeating the same sequence of bows. He hadn’t said much in condolence to them, knowing fair well that there were no words that could console her parents and siblings. Her mother, like the angel she was, is, took his hands in hers and offered him a teary smile. He struggled to return it to her, but managed to do so nonetheless with closed eyes in order to keep the tears back. He walked out, but didn’t sit among the others that were attending her funeral as they ate and drank. He was pretty sure he couldn’t stomach anything at the moment.

He hasn’t eaten a proper meal since they called him to the hospital.

Only a few days of her absence and he was already struggling.

He had driven like a mad man getting to the hospital, breathing laboured from sprinting and panic. Her mother’s voice was deathly calm through the receiver, but from the sallow look on her typically youthful face, he knew that her youngest child was not going to be okay. He entered the private room, noting that the only people there were a few select friends and family. But how many people knew? Was it just him who was endlessly clueless about her? Who did she tell?

“Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m dying, but Khun... don’t look at me with such a sad face.”

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to scream, shout, throw a tantrum, but he was still when he stood at her bedside. She wasn’t much different than the summer he had saw her last. She always had this glow around her. Even then, confined to the hospital bed, she didn’t looked like she had a tumour in her brain. Everyone could argue that she was much thinner, in fact, even he noticed that when he took hold of her hand, but she didn’t look like she fit in with the puffy, swollen eyes, and grief-stricken expressions. She did look tired, the dark circles more prominent than before on pallid skin, but more at peace than he remembered from the past.

She had always looked troubled. There always seemed to be something stuck in her mind that she couldn’t tell him no matter how much she wanted to, and he let her keep that silence because he thought when the time came, she would tell him what was on her mind.

But, it never did.

He wondered if she would have ever told him. He thought about asking her the last summer, but when she hugged him so tightly at the end of the trip before they parted, he couldn’t utter the words. Instead, he returned to his apartment, to his girlfriend, and back to his hectic life. He figured that maybe, in the rarest case he had a day off from managing the restaurant, he would drop by to see her at her work place. But that never happened, and his mental questions were put in the back seat as he helped out in the kitchen.

“You’re thinking really hard about something.”

He winced, “I didn’t really expect you.”

She laid, stomach down, on the bed and looked up at him, “Even though we slept in the same bed?”

He forced out a smile, “Even then.”

She didn’t look away from him, though her eyes seemed to have narrowed in on him just the slightest bit, “Why are you acting so weird? We’ve shared a bed with each other on occasion. You said it didn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t,” he blurted out. Except, you’re not supposed to be here right now.

“You’re fidgeting.”

“No I’m not.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Am not.”

He questioned whether or not it was okay to fall back into this sequence with her. It wasn’t much different from the one that they had when they were in high school. That dynamic changed drastically throughout the years of their friendship, though he was never sure when or how it changed.

The first time they met, he knew he was attracted to her. It was hard not to with the engaging smile on her face and her vivacious energy. He had taken a liking to the way she was so open with her emotions and the world around her. He liked how her touch would spread warmth throughout his body. How her chaste kisses could turn passionate enough that it would send fire running through his veins. And then there was that breathless look that she would have, causing him to go into a mental frenzy of whether or not he should kiss her again.

He hated summer hormones. It was like a strange mating season for teens on vacation without their parents. And he thought that, after the summer, his desire would die down and everything would go back to normal. He wasn’t terribly wrong about that thought because the feelings had diminished, and gave them a healthy and comfortable friendship. And when he met Tiffany for the first time, he found a spark in her that he liked. He loves her, or so he thinks. But, every time he met up with her, it stirred something inside him much different from his girlfriend.

He flinched when he saw that spaced out expression that she usually had when she was lost in thought after he introduced the two. He hated that look for not only the reason that he could never see beyond it, but also because it felt like she could peer into your soul with those eyes. They were unnerving. Almost unnatural. However, she and his girlfriend got along well, so his doubts were once again erased.

He was usually not so meek, preferring to be straight-forward, but he would always hesitate around her. He would choke on his words, or ponder on them for much too long and let them escape him. He drilled it in himself to be more honest with her with the knowledge that he would most likely never be able to meet the expectation. It was like high school, where you would be standing in front of your crush with a wash of red on your cheeks, twiddling with your fingers, staring at anything but the other’s eyes, and fumbling all over your words as if you were a child. This was what he felt like with her.

“I don’t think we can see the sunset today though.”

“Why?” He asked.

She nodded towards the window, “I heard it’s going to rain later.”

He looked out to the window where the blue sky looked practically clear close to their hotel, but off in the distance, he could see the angry gray clouds that were blowing in. It was tradition for them to walk along the beach during sunset. There were a lot of times where they had something to say, but sometimes they said nothing at all.

The last few times he walked with her along the shore were mostly quiet. The tide would slowly start to roll in. He would stare out at the radiant sun as it began to fall, the scenery unchangingly beautiful. She would stare at the water tinted by the colours of the sky, and he would follow beside her, taking glances at the back of her head, wondering what she was thinking about. On occasion, his hand would lightly graze the back of her fingers. Then she would turn her gaze to him with an emotion he couldn’t really recognize. But he knew by the slight frown on her lips that he had made her unhappy somehow. He would try to rectify it, but he felt like he probably made it worse, even though she would always give him a smile of reassurance that she was fine and that he shouldn’t think much about it. Her smile would make him smile unconsciously, much different from the present.

A frown on his face wasn’t uncommon these days. Nor were his blank eyes.

He took a vacation, leaving his restaurant in the safe hands of his fellow co-workers with their understanding that he needed time away. But, even sitting in a place where they both carved important memories in each other’s hearts, he didn’t know how to appreciate it. The glorious landscape couldn’t sooth his heart or mind. It couldn’t remind him of the happy times they spent running around in the glittering sands and splashing each other with the clear waters. It reminded him of other memories he wasn’t sure were good to remember.

Her tears as they ran down her cheeks.

The screams unleashed at the open sea.

His urge to comfort her.

And how his grip remained on the edge of his shirt.

Now, he wasn’t quite sure what the colours would remind him of. The blend of scarlet and orange permeated through his thoughts, making him want to mentally shy away in hopes of keeping the colours far away from his sight. The more he dwelled on it, the more he wasn’t able to discern what memories to associate with the hue of the setting sun.

The scenery they enjoyed together, or the flames that engulfed her entire being.

There was no way he could block the vision of flames consuming her body, or the silent tears her family shed. He couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he couldn’t take his eyes away for even a moment. The small box he had in his hand weighed down heavily on the wool of his pant pocket. His thumb would lightly graze over the dark velvet as a means to try and distract him from the sight. The clammy grip he had slightly dampened the surface, making it slightly wet to the touch. Said box was also in his pocket at the moment.

He had gotten the memento from his mother only months ago accompanied with a long talk about his life as it was. He wondered if his mother’s instincts were the only reason why he was always so transparent to her. Either way, he spilled his guts out to her after some gentle prodding.

Hwang Mi Young. Tiffany.

Kang Ji Yoon.

His internal turmoil was all out for his mother’s ears. All the expressions he wanted to hide, and all the emotions he locked away. His mother would never judge him, but it didn’t make him any less self-conscious of his vulnerability. The box sat in his desk buried under a few sheets of paper for the following months up to her death. Since then, it was always with him in some shape or form, be it the box or the item inside.

Where was it anyway?

His eyes shifted to the bedside, noticing that the box wasn’t there. His eyes widened.

Oh, right.

She poked him again, this time in the thigh, “Are you falling asleep on me again?”

He raked his fingers through his messy bedhead with a wry smile, “Am I even awake right now?”

Her eyes softened, glazing over with a blank expression on her face. The silence between them, although slightly tense, was never really uncomfortable. He thought he could hear thunder rumbling.

“No.”

Could he contain the tears that were threatening to escape his eyes? He knew this couldn’t be reality, but this was his strongest wish – the thing he wanted the most. Why else would he be dreaming so otherwise?

“I’m so sorry,” arms wrapped around his waist tightly.

He choked back a sob, “No, I am. The questions I wanted to ask, and the words that I pushed away, I’m sorry for not saying anything. I want to do it all over again. I wish with all my heart that I could.”

“I know,” she mumbled into his t-shirt, “And I forgive you.” She pulled away from him, the smile on her face reminiscent of her last moments confined to the hospital bed with him by her side, their fingers tightly linked together, with no one else in the room. It was very much like it was now.

The titanium band glinted from her third finger, and he could no longer hold back the tears.

“Thank you.”

When his eyes opened, the tears were still trailing across his temple, and the dark clouds pelted raindrops against the window.

His unconciousness was pleading for the release of his guilt, which was why his vision of her forgave him. He didn't doubt that she most likely never held a grudge against him.

Now if only he could find it in him to forgive himself.

ending: about you.