𝓵𝓮𝔁 @hyuckshaze - Tumblr Blog

Drowning in the Distance | Chapter XXI

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ terminal illness au! series ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ confined to a life of detachment from the only people on earth who understand them, the patients of saint evangeline’s can only watch as those around them drown in themselves, in more ways than one, while they themselves drown, in a much more literal sense. haechan is tired, tired of moving from place to place with no real chance of getting better. y/n is tired too, tired of living solely for the purpose of staying alive. maybe, just maybe, despite the space that separates them, they can guide each other to a life worth living.

WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ongoing theme of terminal illness (cystic fibrosis); talk of christianity, the afterlife, heaven/hell, death; ongoing mention of surgeries, scars, medications, drug trials etc.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT ⇾‌ 9.67k

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

XXI | Y/N

✩‌

I lean against the counter, smiling at Jaemin from six or so feet away as he pulls a freshly-baked cake from the oven, pulling out a cutting board, placing the cake atop of it and closing the oven door in one swift movement; entirely in his element. He glances up, feeling my presence looming to his side, a singular, perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in my direction. I look at him for a moment, just admiring him. I’d seen him ramble on about cooking before, but seeing him do it is different. He looks so at peace, so calm and collected despite the sheer amount of food he’s produced in the last few hours. I think about that first meeting, me clutching Junnie against my chest, him in that football jersey. I feel my heart swell, adoration for the boy flooding my chest as I part my lips to speak.

“I wanted to see the master at work. I feel like I’m in an episode of MasterChef. Now all we need is Gordon Ramsay stood at the side, calling me an idiot sandwich, or a fucking donkey or something.” I chirp, sending him a cheeky grin. He laughs, shooting a wink back at me before pulling his oven mitts off, throwing them to the side. I watch in awe as he assuredly twirls his chef’s knife, as though he’d been cooking for the last forty years, watching the blade deftly slice the small cake into seven neat, even pieces with a flourish. I let out a noise of surprise at the movement, leaning just a little bit closer to get a better view as he grabs a fresh strawberry from a punnet to his left and squints at it. He places it at the corner of the chopping board, leans over it and makes a few cuts here, a couple of snips there, in absolute, unbreakable concentration. He holds it up in his gloved hand after only a few seconds, his eyes crinkling as he grins widely. Though I can’t see the smile, with the face mask covering half of his face, I can tell he’s proud of it. I let my eyes flicker down to the thing sat between his fingers, and my jaw drops. The plain, old strawberry is completely transformed. Instead of a red bulb, an intricate and beautiful flower sits in his hand, the layers peeled back to reveal reds, whites and even shades of pink. “Jaemin! How the hell did you do that? That’s incredible! You should go to children’s birthday parties with that sorcery.” His cheeks flush pink, but he shrugs casually, placing the piece of fruit atop of a slice of the cake, perfectly placed and incredibly aesthetically appealing.

“As much as I hate strawberries, I’ve been practicing for next month when Jeno and I visit my mum. They both love the stupid things.” He says, face flushing an even deeper shade of pink, but sending me a look that screams: this is no big deal. I call bullshit. This is a big deal, the biggest fucking deal. I stare at him, mouth hung open and eyes wide. Him and Jeno are back together, and he’s taking him to see his family? Oh my God. He chuckles at my gormless state clearly amused with my inability to speak at this information. “Yeah.” He nods, grinning from ear to ear as he looks over at me, eyes sparkling. “I hate to admit it, but you were right, Y/N. He loves me. He really does. These past few weeks without him have been fucking torture. I love him. As scary as that is, I think I’m ready to face that fear.” His grin is unparalleled, happiness like I’ve never seen plastered across his face. He seems to bounce on his heels, practically buzzing with joy. “He’s coming for lunch tomorrow. He said he’s all up for testing out the hospital cuisine and acting out an episode of Kitchen Nightmares. We’re gonna give it a try.” I stare at him for a moment, my jaw still dropped as I process this information. He’s going for it. He’s giving himself a chance at love. I almost tackle him into a crushing hug, taking a step forward, but I catch myself before I can close the distance between us and actually do it. I look around, desperate to find something that- aha! I grab a kitchen mitt, pulling it on so that I can stretch out my arm, so that I can reach out and take his hand in mine, albeit with a little bit of a barrier. Tears well in my eyes as I sniff, trying to hold back the overwhelming emotions that threaten to spill over the surface. I shake my head, finally managing to open my mouth to speak, pure happiness making me feel like I’m floating five feet off of the ground.

“Jaemin. I’m so-” He swears under his breath and reaches over, ripping the kitchen mitt off my hand and smacking it over my head. I flinch, covering my face with my hands, a small yelp slipping past my lips.

“세상에! Don’t go all soppy on me, Y/N! You know that I can’t let a woman cry alone. Don’t take advantage of that!” I move out of my defensive position and look over at him, spotting his own watery eyes and giving him a grin.

“They’re happy tears, Jaem. I am so proud of you, and so fucking happy for you.” I manage, reaching up and wiping the tears that have spilled past my waterline. The both of us stand there, smiling at one another and sniffling as we try to reign in our emotions.

The sound of laughter comes from the other room, ending our moment, as well as breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. He clears his throat, wiping his eyes with his arm before clapping his hands together, turning back to the chopping board to slice up six more strawberries to place atop of the slices of cake.

“Come on, 큰아기. You’re missing out on the fun. I’ll be in there in a second.”

After crafting a handful more strawberry flowers and placing them atop of the pre-cut slices, Jaemin carefully carries out his beautifully made cake with eighteen lit candles sitting on top of it and we all start to sing. I watch Hyuck smiling in the glow of the candlelight, looking more radiant than ever as he looks around the table at all of us, his sparkling eyes reflecting the flickering flames sat just before him.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Haechan. Happy birthday to you!” And many more. I mouth the words to him. I know that it’s a thing people say, a superstitious thing, but I really mean it. That phrase had never had more feeling behind it than it does right now. I stare at him, entranced in his beauty. In this light, with this smile, it’s impossible to calm my racing heart and stop the fluttering feeling that envelopes my stomach.

“Sorry if it’s a little underwhelming.” Jaemin says, giving him a sheepish smile in his direction. “I’m pretty good, but baking a full-blown birthday cake in an hour was a real stretch.” The boy opposite me waves this notion away almost immediately after the words come from the baker’s mouth, shaking his head.

“It’s perfect, Jaemin. I love it. Thank you so much.” He says, smiling at the boy, who flushes pink and gives an embarrassed, but proud grin. He leans forward slightly, closing his eyes and parting his lips, but then he pauses, eyeing the candles thoughtfully. “If I blow the candles out, then you guys can’t eat the cake.” He looks up from the flickering lights, his eyes moving between me and Jaemin. I make a noise of recognition, nodding alongside Jaemin. I totally hadn’t thought about that. It’s a good thing he remembered. After a moment of hesitation, Wendy leans over and blows out the candles in one large puff of air. She reaches over to the birthday boy and ruffles his hair, giving him a soft smile.

“I made a wish for you.” She speaks, her kind eyes crinkled with cheerfulness as she looks down at Haechan, who gives her a mischievous smirk and a wink. He spares a glance at me, the look in his eyes playful as he speaks.

“It better have involved Y/N popping out of a birthday cake in a bikini.” Everyone bursts out into laughter at his words, and I look over at him. He’s looking straight back at me, his deep brown eyes sparkling under the bright lights. I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the smile that pulls at the corner of my mouth. He gives me a boyish grin as Karina pulls out her phone, holding her arm out to take a group photo. We crowd together, the best we can while keeping me, Hyuck and Jaemin a safe distance from one another. We all grin up at the screen as the shutter sounds, our smiles captured in time. A photo that holds a thousand memories, a thousand sentimental feelings all bound into one image. I look over at Hyuck as Karina continues to press the shutter, the two of us sharing a soft smile. The people closest to us, those that we love, coming together like this to celebrate, despite all of the things that should separate us. Everything feels so perfect, so right, so-

The frosted-glass door behind us slams open, creating a loud bang as the handle hits against the wall, everyone in the room jumping in shock at the sudden noise. Karina lowers the phone, and we spin around. All at once, we lay eyes on Doyoung. Oh shit. He stares at us, expressionless, and we stare back at him. Nobody dares to speak, stunned into silence from his sudden appearance. What could anybody possibly say to make whatever happens next any easier? He wasn’t supposed to be working now. He wasn’t on the rota. Eventually, Jaemin clears his throat, brave enough to cut through the silence that hangs over the room.

“Hi, Doyoung. We thought you were off tonight. Are you free? We can make you a plate. Y/N’s just about to start the entertainment.” His voice is more stable than I expected, almost humorously so. Nobody laughs, though. They don’t dare to. Not when his blank face twists, rage slowly seeping into his features as he stares at us, speechless. The respiratory therapist must have taken up a double shift today, and I’m sure it’s not an accident that he kept that on the low. He knows me, and he knows that it’s Haechan’s birthday. Fuck. He grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he lifts a shaking hand to point at the birthday boy, Jaemin and I. My heart races and I swallow harshly, trying to settle the disgusting nausea that seems to have settled in my stomach, threatening to rise up my throat. His lips move, his voice a complete juxtaposition to the anger that radiates from him.

“Up. Now.” His voice is quiet, too quiet. I’d rather he start screaming at us, scold us all and tell us how irresponsible we all are. The three of us stand slowly from the table, rising and walking slowly over to him, not daring to get within seven feet of one another. The nurse shakes his head, his jaw clenching and unclenching sporadically, looking around at us, words failing him. “Follow me.” With that, he starts walking out, swinging through the door and back across the cafeteria. We shoot small waves good-bye in our friends’ direction before following him out, only daring to do so because his back was turned. I stare at the nurse’s back as he walks ahead, trying to figure out how to fix this. I have to fix this. It’s bad. I’ve seen Doyoung mad or upset on plenty of occasions, but not like this. This is another kind of anger, the kind of anger that leaves you frozen in place, terrified for what comes next. As we trudge down the hallway, I shoot an anxious look over at Hyuck. Not wanting to speak and anger Doyoung any further, he mouths to me across the distance.

“It’ll be okay.” It’s meant to comfort me, and it almost works, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It looks forced, not the natural, boyish grin that I’ve become accustomed to. This smile doesn’t even convince him that things are going to be okay, but I appreciate his efforts nonetheless.

“You’re all confined to your rooms while we get respiratory cultures.” Doyoung says, spinning around to face us all, his eyes focused on Hyuck. “And you. You’ll be transferred in the morning.” No. No, he can’t. My lips move before I can process that I’m speaking, the words spilling from my lips instinctually.

“No. No, he won’t.” I say, and his eyes swing over to meet mine. “Doyoung, it wasn’t Haechan’s fault. I was the one who-” He holds up his hand, cutting my rushed speech off.

“You might be willing to gamble with your lives, but I’m not.” His words leave an air of finality, their weight looming over our heads. There’s a deafening silence, one that makes my ears ring, and then Jaemin laughs. A hearty, genuine laugh. We all look over at him, and he shakes his head, completely unfazed. As fearless as he was when he spoke to Doyoung in the cafeteria only minutes before, he chuckles as he meets my eyes, giving me an amused grin.

“It’s just like when we were kids-”

“You’re not kids anymore, Jaemin!” Doyoung shouts, cutting him off, his eyes hardened with rage. I look between the two of them, watching as Jaemin meets the elder’s eyes, holding his gaze.

“We were careful, Doyoung.” He says, shaking his head, a disbelieving smile still plastered across his lips. “We were safe. Just like you taught us to be.” He gestures to the distance we’re keeping from one another even now. The grin melts from his face as he coughs. A quick, short cough. His face becomes more serious now, the smile nowhere to be found, as he adds. “I’m sorry, but it was fun. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. I don’t regret it, not in the slightest. We know the facts. We know what risks we’re taking. As you so astutely pointed out, we aren’t kids anymore. You might not be willing to gamble our lives, but they aren’t your lives to gamble in the first place.” He looks away from the nurse, having nothing else to say to him. I stare at Jaemin, taken aback. We’ve had this conversation before, just the two of us, and he’s just summed up my views perfectly. I felt those words, knowing that he meant them from the deepest depths of his heart. He hadn’t agreed with me back then. What changed? Is it the fact that he has Jeno? Or is it that he’s going to see his mother? I give him a soft nod, letting him know that I agree with him, to which he gives me a soft smile. Doyoung opens his mouth to say something, looking between the two of us, but then he quickly closes it and spins on his heel to take us the rest of the way to the third floor.

Nobody says a single word for the rest of the journey to our ward, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the virtually empty hallways as we move. I look over at Hyuck, staring at his side profile as we walk. He swallows, his chest rising and falling in a deep sigh. I fight the urge to reach over and take his hand, to feel his skin on my own for the first time, to feel the comfort of his touch. I want to get closer, but that’s exactly what got us into this situation, isn’t it? Stepping through the double doors, we all make our way to our respective rooms, Jaemin winking at me and Haechan before ducking behind the door of 310. Hyuck gives me a sad smile, one that doesn’t make the skin around his eyes crinkle in joy, one that doesn’t pull his cheeks upwards, and I somehow manage to give one back as the door to 315 closes behind him. Doyoung stares at me, giving me a look of sheer and utter disappointment before I pull the door of 302 shut, leaning my forehead against the wood with a long sigh, finally letting the tears well in my eyes.

As the clock on the wall ticks closer and closer to midnight, I look back at Haechan, fast asleep on the other side of my laptop screen, his face pressed against his pillow, looking calm, peaceful. I rub my eyes, exhausted from the long day of planning for his party, the party itself, and getting caught by Doyoung, but I haven’t been able to fall asleep. For whatever reason, my body seems to be fighting even the idea of sleep with every ounce of energy, but it’s no annoyance. It means I can spend more time staring at the sleeping boy on the screen, propped up against the side of my bed. Before his slumber, we’d agreed that we wouldn’t hang up. We both know that, in the morning, he’ll be gone. Far away, in some other hospital and re-confined to isolation. Or maybe not, seeing as he’s now 18 and can make his own medical decisions. But either way, he won’t be here. They’ll stop him from coming back to Saint Evangeline’s. No more midnight walks. No more sitting by the pool. No more shared regimen. No more drawings. No more pool cue touches. No more notes under the doors. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I fight the unknown feeling that swarms my chest, blinking back tears and closing my eyes, willing this to be a dream, a nightmare. I lay in silence, listening to Hyuck’s breathing through the speakers of my laptop, my body finally beginning to succumb to the tiredness that plagues it. I feel my breathing even out, eyes no longer stinging with unshed tears, so I open them to spare one last lingering glance upon the boy on the other side of the screen. A small, sad smile pulls at my lips, my eyelids slowly shutting when an alarm blares over the speaker, jolting me from my sleepy stupor and forcing me to sit bolt upright.

“Code blue. All available personnel-”

I dive out of bed, dashing to the door and pressing my ear against it so that I can hear, and fully make out, the garbled, monotonous words of the announcement.

“Oh my god.” I whisper, the disgusting feeling in my chest enveloping my entire being. Code blue. Someone’s heart has stopped working. And there aren’t that many of us on this floor right now. I don’t hesitate, swinging open the door as the announcement is repeated again, fully audible now that the door is open and no longer providing a barrier to the sound.

“Code blue. All available personnel to room 310. Code blue.”

Room 310.

Jaemin.

He must have not put the monitor on correctly again. He must have not taped it on. It must have come loose. Right? I clutch at the doorframe, my entire field of vision spinning violently and nauseatingly as a rapid response team pushes a cart past my room, dashing down the hall at top speed. I see Irene following them into Jaemin’s room, her shift not even started yet. I hear Doyoung’s voice call out, somewhere in the distance, sounding miles away.

“No pulse. He isn’t breathing! We have to move fast.” No. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I start to run, my feet slamming against the floor as I stumble to his room, my head fuzzy and feet tingling. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, my own steps sounding louder in my ears. I skid to a halt, frozen in the centre of the hallway, just outside of room 310. My vision is cloudy, blurred with delirium. Through the haze, I see his legs sprawled out on the floor, his stripy-sock clad feet falling awkwardly, almost facing two different directions. No. No, this isn’t real. I’m asleep. I’m having a nightmare. I’ll wake up in a few minutes, I know I will.

Doyoung is leaning over his upper body, covering it from my view, pushing air into the fragile boy’s lungs with a bag valve mask. It’s real. I’m not asleep. He isn’t breathing. Jaemin isn’t breathing.

“Come on, Jaem! Don’t do this to me!” He begs, squeezing the bag valve desperately as another voice yells out, barely audible through the ringing in my ears.

“Defibrillator pads!” A shape, too unclear to make out who as my eyes blur with tears, bends over him, cutting open his favourite South Korean national team football jersey, slapping two pads on his chest. His mum got him that shirt for his birthday. A new shirt that she’d saved up for, as he’d outgrown his last one. Doyoung moves away, no longer touching the boy as the volts run through the defibrillator pads. I watch his entire body twitch with the shock, and then I finally see his face. His eyes are rolled back. His skin is blue.

My entire body goes numb. I stumble backwards in disbelief, falling against the wall as my chest tightens and a mind-splitting sob racks through my body.

“Jaemin!” My throat burns at the scream that erupts from my lips, wanting to get to him, wanting him to be okay, wanting to touch him, to hold him close, to be his best friend. Doyoung turns immediately, his eyes locking onto me, widening as he shouts out.

“No! Someone get her away from here.” No. I have to stay. I have to be with Jaemin. I have to. My head spins, eyes fixed on the still boy upon the floor, not daring to look away.

“Massive tension pneumothorax. His lung is collapsing. Get me an intubation tray!” A voice calls. I barely register the words, sounding as though they were coming from the depths of the ocean, distorted and drowned as I stare at his unmoving chest, using every iota of energy, of life, in my body to will it to lift.

Breathe. He has to breathe.

“Promise me, Y/N. Promise me that you’ll remember my face. Promise that you’ll remember me. So that if you… If you go to heaven today, you can recognise me when I get there too.” He whispers, lip trembling. I stare back at him, my own eyes becoming cloudy with tears as I clutched Junnie tightly.

“I’ll always remember you. Even if I go up there, even if I’m not down here anymore, then just know that I’ll wait for you. And… and when you get there, I’ll give you the biggest hug in the world.”

“A hug worth a lifetime of hugs.” Jaemin affirms, nodding his tiny head at me, a smile tugging at both of our lips.

Bodies are all around me, trying to pull me backwards and away from view. I don’t dare to look away from him. I need to get to my best friend. I need to get to Jaemin. I fight, struggling against arms, hands and shoulders that attempt to restrain me, somehow finding the strength to push them away. I lunge forward, making it to the door of 310, clutching the doorframe tightly in order to stay on my feet.

“Don’t l-leave me, Jaem, p-please! I love you s-so much! Please, I don’t want you t-to go! You c-can’t!” I sob, praying to every God, begging every holy being, wishing upon every fucking star in the sky. He has to make it. He has to.

“Close that door!” Doyoung yells as hands finally manage to pull my weak form back out into the hallway. I hear his voice one more time, but this time he’s speaking to Jaemin, desperation pouring from his lips. “Fight, Jaem! Fight, goddammit!”

Through my tears, I see Irene, her eyes dark.

Then the door closes in my face.

The hands leave my body as I stumble backwards, my legs wobbly and unstable. I turn, not sure what to do with myself. I see Haechan standing behind me, his face as colourless as Jaemin’s. He reaches out for me, wanting to comfort me when words can do no such thing, then closes his hands into fists, frustration overtaking his features. Nausea washes over me as the numbness begins to subside, utter and absolute pain overcoming my chest and making it impossible to breathe. I think I’m going to be sick. I press my back against the wall, sliding down onto the floor, my breathing coming in short gasps as my head spins and my stomach churns uncomfortably. Haechan sits down against the wall, five feet away. He doesn’t say a word, and I’m glad. No words, no pathetic stringing of words could make this any better. I wrap my shaking arms around my legs firmly, resting my head on my knees and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. In what should be the blackness of the backs of my eyelids, all I see is him. Jaemin. Lying there. Completely still.

Striped hospital socks.

Burgundy and dark blue soccer jersey.

He’ll be okay. He has to be okay. He’ll sit up and make a joke about eating too much, or being so shocked by a Gordon Ramsay comeback, or swooning too hard over Kim Jongin. He’ll smile that dazzling grin, pearly whites glittering under the fluorescent lights, and he’ll ask if I want to go get a late-night milkshake with him. The same milkshakes we’ve been having together for ten years. The same milkshakes we need to have together for another decade.

“Promise me, Y/N. Promise me that you’ll remember my face. Promise that you’ll remember me. So that if you… If you go to heaven today, you can recognise me when I get there too.”

“I’ll always remember you. Even if I go up there, even if I’m not down here anymore, then just know that I’ll wait for you. And… and when you get there, I’ll give you the biggest hug in the world.”

“A hug worth a lifetime of hugs.”

I hear rushed footsteps, my head snapping up to see Dr. Moon hurrying down the hallway. I shoot up from the floor, hauling my shaky body to my feet to stand before him.

“Taeil-” I start, my voice breaking as I cry. He pushes past me.

“Not now, Y/N.” He says firmly, entering Jaemin’s room. I turn to face the door to 310. It swings wide and I see him. His face is turned toward me, his eyes slightly open, glazed over and locked onto the wall just beside my head. He isn’t moving. He still isn’t moving. Why isn’t he moving?

But worse than that is Doyoung. The respiratory therapist sits to the side, legs sprawled in front of him, leaning forward with his head in his hands as his body shakes. He’s stopped trying. They’ve stopped trying. No. They’re taking everything off of him. The wires. The defibrillator pads. The intubation tube. They’ve given up. They’ve given up on him.

“No!” I hear myself scream, hands flying up to my head to grip at my hair, my entire body screeching alongside me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Doyoung mutters, his voice shaking, unable to look at me. I look from him to Irene, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she takes a step towards me.

“No. No.” I shake my head, taking a step back as my chest burns with pain, blinking profusely, tears spilling down my cheeks. “No!”

He’s gone. Jaemin is gone.

I stumble down the hallway, seeing his eyes the day we first met, seeing him smile at me from his bedroom door, seeing his hand resting in mine through the kitchen mitt only a few hours earlier.

“Promise that you’ll remember me.”

He wasn’t supposed to be the one who died. He wasn’t supposed to die before I did. Not with his lung function being so much better than mine. Not with all of the things he had to live for. My fingers blindly reach for the door, finding the handle to my door. I crash through, the door slamming loudly against the wall behind me, everything blurring as tears stream down my face.

I spin around to see Haechan has followed me, and I take a step closer as sobs rack my body, making my rib cage ache and my chest tighten, as though a snake is wrapping itself around my torso, becoming impossible to breathe.

“He’s gone. Haechan, he’s gone! Jeno, his parents, oh my god.” I shake my head, clutching at my sides, nails digging into the skin hard, but I can’t feel it. “Hyuck! He was just about to... They’ll never see him again.” It’s only after saying those words out loud, after putting them into context, that the realisation slams into me, knocking all the air out of my lungs and rendering me unable to gasp out for breath. “I’ll never see him again.” I ball my hands into fists as I pace. “I never even hugged him. Never. Don’t touch! Don’t stand too close. Don’t, don’t, don’t!” I scream out, hysterical, coughing, dizzy. “He was my best friend and I never hugged him.” And I never will. The feeling is so horribly familiar; I can’t stand it. “This disease is a fucking prison!” I scream, fingers gripping chunks of my hair at the scalp as I cry. “I have to watch as my family and friends drown in themselves, drown in the expectance that I’m going to die, drown in their grief for Yeji, all while I’m dying, while I’m drowning in my own fucking lungs!” I gasp, tears blurring my vision as I blink at the teary-eyed boy before me. “I can’t even fucking touch you, Hyuck! I can’t get closer than six fucking feet. I can’t touch you like I couldn’t touch Jaemin, and now he’s... he’s... God!” I pace faster, feeling a few strands of hair rip from my scalp at the pressure as my grip tightens on them. “This- this distance... It’s fucking suffocating! We’re drowning in every aspect, Hyuck, can’t you see?” My throat aches at the heart-wrenching sobs that escape my cracked lips. “I’m losing everyone.” I manage, voice breaking with my cries. Yeji’s gone, and the most precious gift she ever gave me, my best friend, is gone too.

“You’re not losing me.” Haechan says, his voice soft but determined. He walks toward me, reaching out, his arms almost wrapping around me. In my desperation to feel something, anything, I almost let him, too.

“No!” I shove him away, placing both my hands on his chest, stumbling back, further and further, well past five, six, seven feet. I stare at him, eyes wide as I press my back against the far wall, now an entire room separating us. “What the fuck are you doing? Why did you do that?” I cry out, staring at him like he’s fucking crazy, which he is. He was close enough to touch me… I touched him. My god, I touched him. Realisation fills his eyes, and he backs away to the door, enlarging the distance between us, looking horrified. He stammers, absolutely speechless, lips moving and no words coming out for a few moments. A mix of emotions bubbles in the pit of my stomach as I stare at him, glancing down to my hands that had been placed upon his chest only moments before.

“Oh, f-fuck. Y/N. I- I wasn’t thinking. I j-just-”

“Get out.” I whisper, voice shaking, but he’s already in the hallway, already sprinting back to his room. As I cross the room, I picture his face once again, visualising the pure horror at his own actions. I slam my door, my head pounding with anger and with fear.

I look around the room, head still fuzzy and eyes blurred with unshed tears, and all I see is loss. It’s everywhere. It clings to the walls, the floors, even my skin. My hands burn, as though the B. cepacia is seeping into my skin and eating away at the flesh. Nausea grips my stomach, churning it uncomfortably. The entire room spins and the walls close in on me, closer and closer until it’s all too much. This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a fucking prison. I cross the room, marching directly to the wall, my fingers curling around the edges of one of the many posters covering the clinical white. It gives way, tearing away from the hospital wall. I reach for more, ripping them down in their masses and leaving them in shreds upon the floor. I snatch the comforter from atop of my bed, throwing the pillows across the room, and then the bedspread too, leaving it bare. My fingers find Junnie, gripping him tightly for a moment before releasing him, flinging him at the door. I shove all the books and papers and to-do lists from my desk, everything clattering loudly to the ground. I gasp for air, feeling entirely unable to get a good breath, to have enough oxygen in my lungs to function properly. I’m fucking drowning. I’ve been drowning my entire life and yet, somehow, this moment feels the worst. My hands reach for the med cart, flinging item after item from the metal around the room in random directions, the bottles rattling as they crash into the floor, some popping open and spilling onto the linoleum, multi-coloured pills rolling in every direction. Nobody is ever going to see Na Jaemin again. Nobody is ever going to find out how much of an amazing cook he is. Nobody is ever going to see him at the X-Games or the next Summer Olympics for skateboarding. Nobody is ever going to see him sat in some famous restaurant, tasting and reviewing all of the food with his boyfriend, Jeno. Nobody is ever going to spot him at a Kim Jongin concert, sobbing in the stands with a lightstick in hand. Nobody is ever going to see him and his mother reunited after years apart. Nobody is ever going to see his wedding day. I’m never going to see any of those things. I’m never going to see him again. He’s dead. He’s gone. And he isn’t coming back. I stagger backwards, the weight of those words hitting me like a bullet train and rendering me unable to do anything other than gasp, wheezing for air. I blindly grab at my nightstand, first for stability, but then my fingers wrap around the first thing I can get my hands on, throwing it at the wall harshly.

The glass jar shatters against the wall, the shards jangling as they hit the floor, black truffles scattering across the linoleum. I freeze, hand still raised from where I had flung the jar, watching them roll in every direction. Jaemin’s truffles. Everything goes quiet except for the wheezing of my chest, heaving as I attempt to breathe, in and out, in and out. Then I see the post-it note, having fallen from the glass in my haste to throw it, landing directly at my feet. My eyes flicker over the words, over the poorly inked letters over Jaemin’s awful chicken scrawl.

‘You’re right. For once.’

I sink to my knees, sobs wracking my entire body as I pick up the small piece of paper with shaky hands, holding it up in front of my face, not daring to let my tears spill upon the sheet and smudge the ink. I cry for a few minutes, heart shattering in the chasm of my chest, not a single sound able to escape my chapped lips. I want to scream, to yell at the top of my lungs, but I can’t even do that. It’s when I look back up at the note that my eyes flicker over to the other side of the room, falling on the shattered glass. The truffles. I scramble to my feet, placing the note on the now empty desk and stumbling through the mess that now litters the floor. I crouch down, trying desperately to pick up the small, black truffles, one by one, collecting them in my hand. I lean to the side, my free hand wrapping around a still-standing, empty container on the bottom shelf of my med cart. I pop open the cap, tilting my hand so that the pile of truffles tumbles neatly into the newly-purposed pill bottle, then listening as the cap clicks shut. I sit back on my heels, gripping the bottle tightly, and look at Junnie, toppled over on his side, ragged and worn, surrounded by shards of glass and shredded posters, a lone truffle resting against his tattered, no longer white, leg. His blank eyes stare back at me, almost sad. I reach out, picking him up, and hug him to my chest, as tightly as I can. I think about Renjun, wishing I could see him. Though the last time I’d spoken to him was over ten years ago, he’d know exactly what to say. I know he would. He was always smart, with such a bright future. Until he didn’t have a future at all. My eyes travel over the mess covering the floor, over the torn band posters, over the scattered photos of my friends and I, to Yeji’s lung drawing, having survived the pull from the wall. The picture of the two of us didn’t have the same luck. The glass of the frame is cracked, as though splitting the two of us apart, right down the centre. I stay there for God knows how long, just staring at everything, clutching both Junnie and the truffles to my chest, a thousand memories behind each item, a thousand memories for each lost friend. Eventually, I stand up on shaky legs, managing to make my way across the room, where I collapse onto the bed, curling up into a tiny ball on the bare vinyl mattress, shutting my eyes tightly as tears continue to stream down my face as I lie there, alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my memories. Alone with my regrets.

I lie awake, staring at the ceiling as the moonlight glares into my room, through the open curtains, everything giving way to numbness as evening drifts into early morning. My eyes flicker over to the clock before flickering back to the clinical white of the walls and ceiling. It’s only two-thirty. How is it only two-thirty? It hasn’t even been three hours since… God, it doesn’t feel real. I must have been the one to die, trapped in a never-ending nightmare that is a world without him. Without Jaemin.

‘I have to watch as my family and friends drown in themselves, drown in the expectance that I’m going to die, drown in their grief for Yeji, all while I’m dying, while I’m drowning in my own fucking lungs!’ I had yelled. ‘This- this distance... It’s fucking suffocating! We’re drowning in every aspect, Hyuck, can’t you see?’

It’s something that I’d never thought about before, and yet something which made perfect sense. If not the mucus that filled my lungs day-in-day-out, it would be the space between myself and the only other people on the planet who could possibly understand that did it; that drowned me. In my last gasping breath, what would I be thinking about? Those that I’d leave behind, or those that I’d finally be reunited with? Confined and cursed to a life of isolation, of cautiousness, of missing out; was that really life? I remember Haechan’s words to me, that day in the gym when he’d confronted me about Yej.

‘But, Y/N. That’s not living’

Maybe he was right.

My phone vibrates noisily on the floor, incessant and irritating, but I ignore it. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not Haechan. Not my parents. Not Karina and Tzuyu. What’s the point? I’ll die or they will, and this cycle of people dying and people grieving will just continue. We’re all stranded in the ocean, and we’ll all drown eventually. That grief will pull us below the waves, whether it’s now or later, so why fight? If life has taught me anything, it’s that grief can destroy a person. It destroyed my parents. It will destroy Jaemin’s mother. Jeno. And me. My entire life, I’d been so okay with dying. I’ve always known it would happen. It’s been this inevitable thing that I’ve lived with forever, this awareness that I would die long before Yeji and my parents. And I’d accepted that. I was ready for it. I was never, ever ready to grieve myself. I was supposed to be the one to die long before everyone else, why would I be ready to grieve? I’d always thought it unfair. The pot luck that is life. They call it pot luck, but is it really luck when some die? When some go hungry and some live without a roof over their head? That’s not luck. And now, as I have for the last few hours, I can’t help but wonder what I would be thinking about in those last moments of life. If I had been damned by pot luck, condemned to a life of misfortune, would that last breath mean anything? I ask myself again; would I think about those that I’d leave behind, or those that I’d be reunited with?

I can’t stare at this damn ceiling anymore. I push myself up, placing the truffles gently upon the empty bed beside Junnie, before wading through the wreckage that my room has become, stepping around pill bottles and pieces of glass, my striped hospital socks padding against the linoleum. I pick up my phone as I go, crouching down for it, feeling it vibrate in the palm of my hand. I slip on some shoes, over by the door, and drift out into the hallway, heading toward room 310. Jaemin’s room. I don’t know why. I walk slowly but surely, unable to stop my feet. I blink harshly, trying to shake the image of my best friend’s cold, still body laying upon the floor, his skin blue and eyes glazed over, unfocused. My chest tightens as I peer inside. Some part of me expects to see Jaemin sitting there, propped up against a mountain of pillows, looking up at me with a dazzling grin as I pass by, like this was all a sick, twisted nightmare. I hear him say my name, the playfully flirtatious drawl of his voice as he wiggles his eyebrows at me. If anybody else spoke to me like that, I’d probably run, but it was the way he said it, with that look of warmth in his shining eyes, that glittering smile reflecting the clinical white of the walls, giving them life. Instead, it’s an empty hospital room, the walls bare, a lone skateboard, decorated in an abundance of stickers, leaning against the bed. One of the few traces that Jaemin had left behind. And Jeno. He sits on the bed, his head in his hands, his dark hair a ruffled mess, a half-filled box sat next to him. He’s come to collect Jaemin’s belongings. The KAI poster. The South Korean national football team jersey. The plaid comforter. The spice rack. He sobs, his body shaking violently as he holds the comforter close to his chest, just like I had done with the truffles. I want to say something, to comfort him. But I don’t have the words.

My feet move before I can register what I’m doing. I step past the threshold of the door, for the first time in my life. They will have cleaned it top to bottom before letting Jeno in here, not that I really care about the risks anymore. We stuck to the rules, we took no risks, and yet Jaemin is dead. At the sound of footsteps, Jeno’s head shoots up. His eyes are swollen, red and bloodshot, filled to the brim with tears. Much like mine, I imagine. It had barely been a few hours and yet here he was, collecting Jaemin’s items as his only connection in the country other than me. I think about his mother, the sound of the screams she must have let out down the phone haunting me, as though I had really heard them. Jeno’s fingers grip the blanket tighter, his lip quivering slightly. His cheeks are blotchy, tears streaking down his skin. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he stands, placing the comforter gently into the box before taking a step towards me. No longer able to keep composure, he lets out a loud, heart-wrenching sob and collapses onto the floor, legs no longer able to keep him on his feet. I move forward and drop to my knees, pulling him into a tight embrace, gripping at his shoulders as he sobs into my shirt, my own eyes welling with tears. His hands pull at my shirt as he lets it all out, yells of utter heartache escaping his lips. I try to ignore the fact that I sit in the exact spot that Jaemin lay just a few hours before, just listening to Jeno weeping and allowing silent tears to slide down my own face.

We stay like that for what felt like hours but easily could have been a few seconds, Jeno’s sobs subsiding into pained hiccups, another layer of fresh tears drying upon my face. I rub his back, letting my hand slide up and down, the other hand in his hair, just holding him close. Holding him like I would have held Jaem.

“He loved you, Jen. He-” My gut twists at the past tense, but it doesn’t feel right to use the present either. I let out a long, drawn-out breath before continuing. “He really did.” If I use present tense, it means he’s still here. It means that it’s all a nightmare, and that he’s going to come around the corner on the skateboard beside us, crashing into the doorframe and bursting out laughing. Jeno nods against my chest, biting back further cries, but I feel new tears seeping through the material of my shirt. “Did he ever tell you about our promise?” I ask after a while, feeling as the boy shakes his head and humming in response. “When we were nine, I had a risky surgery and he cried for two days, refusing all his treatments until he saw me, a-alive and well. He hadn’t seen me before that surgery, and he was worried that he wouldn’t get to say goodbye.” I swallow, feeling the lump in my throat rise even further. I feel like I’m going to throw up, speaking about it like this, but I think Jeno needs to hear it. I think it’ll put his mind to, at least, a little bit of ease. I let my vision become blurred with tears, allowing my hands to tighten their grip on the boy in my arms. “He made me promise, the next time I had a surgery, that I would remember his face. That I would remember him. So that i-if I went to heaven that day, if I left him alone in the hospital, that I would r-recognise him when he got up there too.” Jeno sniffles, and my own chest shakes with a suppressed sob. “I t-told him that I’d always remember him. And that if I went u-up there, that I’d wait for him with open arms. That I’d give him the biggest hug in the w-world.” Jeno pulls away from my hold, removing my arms from him. He lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes sad. A terrible attempt at a smile crosses his lips and his voice is scratchy, deeper than usual.

“It’s okay. Let it out.” Though I want to hold back, to be strong and put up my usual front, the words are like a hairpin trigger. He pulls me into his arms, holding me the way I’d held him. The way that Jaemin would have held me.

A hug worth a lifetime of hugs.

I sob, ugly and body-wracking cries that echo around the chasm where my heart used to be.

“He m-made me promise e-every time after that. Every time o-one of us had a s-surgery, we p-promised that we’d r-remember each other l-like this. So w-we could meet again.” I manage in between sobs, needing to get the words out, needing to let him know. He stays silent, but I know he’s listening. “He’ll r-remember us, Jeno. He… He’ll remember you.” I feel Jeno’s chest shake as he cries. “And… And when we g-get up there, he’ll be w-waiting for us.” Tears stream down both of our faces as we sit upon the floor that Jaemin had walked upon only hours before, when we’d returned from the party. Jeno’s hand moves from my back and takes my own, squeezing my hand tightly in reconciliation. “He’ll tell us h-how we’ve taken forever, a-and how the food is s-so awful that he’s r-resorted to starvation as a principle, l-like Ghandi.” Jeno laughs, a genuine, yet still sad laugh. I let out a teary chuckle of my own, pulling away from the hug to look at him. A small, real smile sits upon his lips, mirroring my expression.

“He’ll complain a-about the lack of appreciation f-for-” He starts, but I cut in with a scoff.

“Kim Jongin.” We say together, before bursting out into laughter. His eyes curve upwards, disappearing with a smile of remembrance.

“He’ll t-tell us that the TV up there is awful, a-and how he’s had to rerun full e-episodes of Kitchen Nightmares in his head, j-just to get his daily f-fix of Gordon Ramsay.” I giggle through the continuous flow of tears, Jeno joining me with a shake of his head.

“Him and his Gordon Ramsay, huh?” I laugh, my lip quivering. Him and his Gordon Ramsay indeed. I lean forward once more, resting my head against Jeno’s chest. He places his chin atop of my head and we stay like that, in comfortable silence, for who knows how long. There’s an understanding between the two of us now. The understanding of loss, of pain, of grief. Jaemin would have liked to see us like this. Two of his favourite people, he’d say. We’re you’re only people, Jaem, I’d retort. He’d scowl but his lips would turn up into a grin as Jeno snickered. She’s got a point, Jeno would laugh. You’re supposed to be on my side! Besides, my mum says I’m her favourite boy, Jaem would sulk. You’re her only boy, I’d grin cheekily. He’d scoff, lips parted in feigned shock and hurt. I’m abused, he’d pout. I can hear his voice saying the words, I can see his pearly whites, I can smell his favourite cologne, I can taste the flaked truffles atop of eggs in the morning, I can feel my heart beating in my chest, beating for my best friend, beating for Jaemin. Jeno and I cry in each other’s embrace, holding each other the way we wished to have held Jaem. The way I never got to hold Jaem. The way Jeno will never get to hold him again.

After a while, Jeno politely asks to be left alone for a while, to which I happily oblige. I don’t know how much longer I could have stayed in that room, honestly. Though the atmosphere was slightly happier, the knowledge that I was on the floor where Jaem had lay, where he had died, made my skin crawl. I give him a parting smile, which he returns, before sitting back upon the bed and picking up the comforter, pulling it close to his chest. He’s no longer sobbing, a sad, tearful smile upon his lips as he takes in the scent of the blanket, of his boyfriend.

I exit, continuing down the hallway, feeling my chest ache. It’s almost like the feeling when I can’t get any air in, but I have all of the air. I have all of the oxygen that Jaem couldn’t get, and yet I feel like I’m drowning. I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment, the wheeze of my chest louder than usual as I breathe in, then out. In, then out. As I pass, my fingertips drag along the door of 315, feeling the wood under their touch. The bedside lamp in Hyuck’s room is on, dim light visible through the gap between the base of the door and the linoleum of the floor, daring me to knock. Daring me to lift my hand once, twice, to let it fall upon the wood. Daring me to go to him. I ignore it, continuing down the hallway, feeling lightheaded and fuzzy, as though drifting rather than walking.

My feet take me up sets of stairs and down hallways and through doors and past blurred faces until I come to a sudden stop, no longer moving, no longer floating. I look up from the battered canvas of my shoes, eyes tracing over the clinical white until the sign for the children’s playroom comes into view. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the colourful letters, why did I come here? I allow my gaze to drift, in through the viewing window, scanning over painted animals, landscapes, clouds, rainbows, that litter the walls inside. This was where it had all started. Where I came on my first day at Saint Evangeline’s. Where I met Jisung and Chenle for the first time. Chenle is a CFer too. His lung function is pretty high considering his age, so he’s got a good shot at a lung transplant. Jisung, on the other hand, has chronic bronchitis, caused by an alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. The pair of them were equally as friendly and inviting back then as they are now, hilarious in their own ways, but all the funnier together. I remember, all of us so small and innocent, so unaware of the struggles that we’d have to face just to survive, just to stay alive. I stare at the mural covering the walls, imagining the four of us playing together: me, Jaemin, Jisung, Chenle and Yeji, the five of us having no idea that we had such little life ahead of us. And so much of that life was to be spent right here, inside this godforsaken hospital. I pull at the collar of my shirt uncomfortably, peeling the fabric away from my sweaty skin. For the first time in all my years at Saint Evangeline’s, staring at the playroom like this, I feel the urge to run, to run as far as I can and get as far away from this hospital as I can. I need to get out. I need air.

Flying down the hallway, I head back into Building 1, slamming the elevator button until the steel doors slide open, and the elevator pulls me back down to my floor. Yanking open my door, I turn my head to look warily over at my obsessively organized med cart. All I’ve done for the longest time is take my meds and go through my stupid to-do lists, trying to stay alive for as long as possible. But why? I stopped living the day Yeji died. So what’s the point? Jaemin pushed everyone away so he wouldn’t hurt them, but it didn’t make a bit of difference. Jeno is still sitting on his bed, crushed, the weeks they could have had together spiralling through his head. Whether I die now or ten years from now, my parents will be crushed. And all I’ll have done is make myself miserable focusing on a few extra breaths.

I slam open my closet door to grab my coat and scarf and gloves, wanting to get away from all of this. I throw my portable O2 concentrator into its satchel and head for the door. Peering into the hallway, I see the nurses’ station is empty. I clutch at the strap of the bag, pulling it further up on my shoulder, turning toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. Walking quickly, I push open the door before anyone can see me, coming face-to-face with the first set of stairs. I climb one by one, each step bringing me closer to freedom, each gasp for air a challenge to the universe. I run, the exhilaration pushing everything else from my mind. Soon the red exit door is in front of me. I pull out the folded bank note of Haechan’s, still in my coat pocket after all this time. Using it to hold the alarm button down, I pull open the door and use a brick leaning against the wall to keep it open. I step onto the roof and move to the edge to see the world below. I take a deep breath of the biting air and let out a long scream. I scream until my voice gives way to coughs. But it feels good. Looking down, my lungs heaving, I see Haechan in his room down below. He pulls a large duffel bag onto his shoulder, heading for the door.

He’s leaving.

Lee Donghyuck is leaving.

I look to the holiday lights in the distance, twinkling like stars, calling out to me.

This time I respond.

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