The yellow lights flicker on and off above his face, his fair complexion like porcelain. A machine on his left beeps, signalling that he’s still alive and there’s no need to worry; but I worry. I worry about his suffering and the currents of pain he will undergo. Past the whitewashed sliding doors, there is the scurrying of shoes, footsteps clicking against the linoleum. It’s the same routine every day, when my brother awakes; I will call in the nurse and feed him breakfast. Sometimes, he would pretend to choke just to get my attention or to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

  My vivid black duvet drapes to the floor, cradling my legs to keep the warmth. Though I am comfortable, I know that my mind won’t rest. The pale sky outside beams light that glistens even through the curtains, I turn my head, the smallest of sunlight rays on the tip of my nose. I smile; this is the closest I will ever get to the outdoors. The only times I can exit this room is when my brother is at a check-up or an operation, other than that, I watch him like a hawk. I peel away the curtains, viewing the emerald grass and the rivulets of dewdrops at the edge of leaves. The nurse had once advised me never to open the windows as anything could harm his breathing.

  I adjust my gaze to the clock on the opposite end of the room. It is framed with red velvet, the hands contrasting with a deep green. That colour reminds me of the memories of running across fields, meadows and parks. The memories that would linger in the past, because of course; I am stuck in the hospital for the rest of my life even though I hadn’t caught a disease. The black of the lettering in the clock stood out from the simple, pale backdrop. It was 7:00am, the moment I wake him and shatter at the fact he will live through another agonising day of torture.

  The blanket drops off my lap as I stand up, I fold it into a miniature square before placing it on the bottom of the chair I was sitting on. This chair marks the day my brother arrived to hospital, the day it all happened. Though my brother struggles to live, this chair hadn’t got a single rip.

  I ruffle his hair, startling him awake as he brings his gaze towards the parted curtains and at the swaying grass below. It somehow brings a smile on his lips as he admires the shades of greens and blues with sprinkles of red and yellow here and there. “I’m still alive, Jen. Isn’t that great?” As a response, I smile, but I’m actually shaking my head. No, it’s not a good thing to go through pain like this. He always had such an optimistic personality; nobody had suspected he is sick.

  “Chanyeollie, you know how it is; anything outside of hospital grounds can make your condition worse. Your allergy to pollen doesn’t help either. It’s safer in here. Boring, but safer I promise you.” The sparking glint in his eyes doesn’t falter a single bit, he just continues grinning and acting like everything is okay.

  His innocent eyes make me feel sick to the stomach, but I do what was best for him. “I understand. You’ll take me outside before I die though, right?” My heartstrings snap at those words and I can’t look into his deep eyes. Not when he’s unintentionally making things harder for me and placing a weight of guilt on my shoulders. “You know how in the old days you made those really long daisy chains? Can you go outside in my honor and make one of them for me? Just like before, we could role play where I am the king and you are my servant.” His eyes twinkle as he dreams of a childhood fantasy. But fantasies never make it to reality.

  “Sorry, you know the rules. I need to stay with you all the time, just in case something happens.”

  “I don’t get it,” Chanyeol mutters and his smile twitches slightly, “I’m the one who’s sick. How come you’re in here all the time?”

  Eyelids heavy, lips dry, I twisted the corner of my mouth up so my 'smile' could be reassuring, “Because I care about you and I don’t want you to be alone when you’re so…”

  “Helpless?” Chanyeol averts his gaze to the white ceilings, eyes tracing the cracks which formed along it, “You know, I’m really sorry. I don’t want to be the reason you’re trapped. I mean, you have a life and you don’t have to dedicate it to me. You should know what freedom is and I’ll understand if you never want to return to me. At least, when I die, you can do whatever you wan-” He abruptly stops and rubs the bottom of his throat with two fingers, everything is happening too quickly and before I know it, the worst has happened.

  Chanyeol coughs.

  A surge of alarm drowns my body like a tsunami. Flustered, I scramble for the emergency button, this is the moment I dreaded, but I feel eased by it too. Maybe this is the time that his misery could finally come to an end, maybe he could finally be tranquil in someplace other than Earth. The coughing becomes more severe as he placed a hand around his throat to reduce the ache. “Jennifer, it hurts. I feel like something is lodged inside there, but I didn’t eat a thing this morning.,” his coughs soon became hoarse; dry as if he had devoured a rock. It didn’t end, and then a drop, like liquid ruby, appears in the corner of his lip.

  I throw my hand into the emergency button, and though I knew a nurse would rush up here in any second, the tears continue to brim at the corner of my eyes. “It’s okay, Yeollie, be strong. The nurse will be here at the speed of light.” I slip out a tissue and wipe away the red dew, hands tremulous as the stain just smears deeper into the fibres of his pillow, “Here, I’ll wipe away the blood, just imagine it was never there.” It’s strange, he is ill and dying, but he has such a lively personality. If you put those together, Chanyeol is the Happy Virus.

  The sliding door flies open, the timber chafing against the linoleum. “What’s happened now, patient 216?” Nurses never remember the patient’s name, no matter how long they have been here. All I had to do was present the tissue square, the one with blood that was barely noticeable. The red speck sent a course of alertness to creep up her spine like fingertips, she orders instructions through a walkie-talkie and more nurses charge in with medical equipment.

  “Nurse, do what’s best for him,” I whisper through pursed lips.

  “You mean make sure he lives another day?”

  Most people would nod and wish that they could wait in the hospital room and when their relative is wheeled back in, they will feel immense relief.

  I don’t.

I shake my head and place an object in her palm which had been covered in tears. Outside the door, I see her open her fist. There, in the midst of her palm was a daisy chain I made during his most recent operation. Wilted, it’s half-dead, just like my brother.