“Mark?” Jackson’s hand brushed my shoulder, much gentler than I would ever expect from the coarse boy. “He left this for you.”

I knew that I probably looked empty and distant, because there was not a single emotion stirring within me. It felt as though time had stopped, and every movement I made took hours to complete. Even the smallest of actions were too much effort, and staying still brought some sense of tranquillity to me, although it also seemed to consume me in an abysmal, carnivorous manner.

Seeing how I had no intention to even look at him, Jackson wordlessly put an object in my hand, carefully untangling my fingers from my clenched fists. He left me alone, his parting footsteps and the sound of the door shutting the last things I heard before I peeked at my hands.

It was a letter.

I tore the soft envelope too quickly, my hands shaking wildly. The edges of the paper had been carelessly ripped off, but the writing in the middle of it was still intact. His handwriting was small and shaky. There were at least three different colours he wrote in, each of the new coloured paragraphs starting out neatly before the words became more faded and jumbled and difficult to read. He probably lacked have the strength to write it all in one go. The characters seemed to dwindle as the letter progressed, and at some points the circles looked like squares and the ink started to fade. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to prep myself before I read the last thing that Jinyoung would ever write to me.

“For God’s sake, Jinyoung. Here goes nothing.”

-

Hey Mark. Hi Mark. What’s up, Mark?

I wish I had used different greetings all the time. I wish I had given you more nicknames. I wish I had more chances to let you meet my parents.

Okay.

I’m going to stop myself there, because I didn’t have the intention of writing this letter to lament about all the things I didn’t get to do with you because my body gave out on me. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try not to make you or me cry. I’m really going to try my best, but whenever I cry, you cry, so hopefully when I’m no longer there, you don’t cry as much, right? Haha.

Maybe it’s a little too early to start with the dead jokes. I’m guessing that by the time you get your hands on this letter, it already happened. It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? Does it remind you of one of the movies we watched where that one guy converses with his dead wife through letters? Our story is probably less horror and more on the cheesy side, not that I’m complaining. Also, if we’re comparing our story and that gruesome film, I hope you remember what happened when the guy forgot to lock his windows at night. (Mark, if you still haven’t gotten my warning, I’m telling you to lock the windows. I don’t care if it was a fictional film, or in your words “dead- bull”, you’re going to do it so the rest of the members don’t get manhandled by demonic possession. I mean it.)

Let’s move onto a less gory topic for a change.

Do you remember the first time I had asked you what you’re getting for Father’s Day, because I had no idea what to get for my dad? You started crying, and you locked yourself in your room and refused to even let me talk to you for the next two days. I had to pry the information out of Jaebum, who told me that you grew up without a father. Blame it on the stressful promotion period, the loneliness of being in another country by yourself or just a bad day, but I think that was the first time you ever openly cried in front of me. Months later, I would bring the topic up out of curiosity, but you weren’t ready to tell me yet. I let it go, because I didn’t want to push you. A year later, on Father’s Day, you slapped your hand over my mouth after dinner, shoved me into your roo