Mar 2015.

Sophomore, University.

Hastily climbing the stairs, I sped down the corridor and finally reached Shian's room. I slid the door open and rushed inside, struggling to catch my breath. "Sorry for being late..."

Shian looked up at me, his tired eyes heavy and his pale lips pressed into a weak smile. His hair, eyebrows, and lashes had completely fallen out, and he seemed more fragile with each passing day. "Why are you apologizing? I should be the one who's sorry," he said quietly. "You come here every day, even though you have school and a part-time job to handle."

I shook my head, determined to keep my smile steady. "Don't feel that way. You're like a little brother to me. All I want is for you to focus on healing." I placed my backpack on the small table by his bed and sank into the chair. Though every muscle in my body ached from exhaustion, I tried to keep my expression calm.

Two months ago, everything spiraled. My dad's friend had disappeared, leaving us with a debt after borrowing from the bank with my dad as his guarantor. Realizing I had to step up before things got worse for our family, I took a part-time job. Balancing work, school, and Shian's hospital visits left me with barely a moment to breathe, but I held on, believing that somehow, I'd get through it—that better days had to be ahead.

"How are you feeling today?" I asked softly, concern threading through my voice as I looked at him. He was visibly weaker than before, and it terrified me.

Shian closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish... I could just fall asleep and not wake up to all this pain."

I reached out, placing my hand gently on top of his. "You're going to get through this," I said, my tone as steady as I could manage. "I'm sure you'll—"

Shian let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, turning his head away. "Who are you trying to fool, Myung?" he mumbled. "We both know what's really happening. I'm dying."

My chest tightened; the reality of his words hitting me hard. "You're not," I retorted, the words coming out more forcefully than I'd intended. "Stop being so pessimistic!"

"Shall I tell you a fact?" Shian looked at me; his faint smile was twisted with sadness, and in his eyes was a sorrow so deep that it seemed to chill the room. "This world isn't worthy enough to endure all its pain."

I averted my gaze, gritting my teeth. There was a frustration brewing inside, a helplessness that reminded me just how powerless I felt about everything happening around me.

Without a word, I stood and leaned over his frail body, my hands settling gently on his legs. "I'll give you a massage," I mumbled, rubbing his legs with soft, steady pressure. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Myung..."

"Just take a nap, Shian," I whispered, keeping my gaze fixed downward.

Just then, Haru stepped into the room. "How's it going, buddy?" he asked Shian, coming to stand beside me.

Shian huffed, draping his forearm over his eyes. "Terrible. Could you please send Myung home? He's starting to look like a ghost with how little he sleeps."

I clenched my jaw, my hands still on Shian's legs. "I'm not going," I said firmly, retreating my hands and standing up. "I'll stay right here."

Haru tilted his head, scrutinizing me with sudden seriousness. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I replied, meeting his gaze before looking away. "I just... need a cup of coffee." Without waiting for an answer, I turned and left the room, feeling my own exhaustion settle in even deeper.

Out in the hallway, I let out a long, shaky exhale. It wasn't just physical exhaustion—it was a bone-deep weariness that left me feeling frayed, unraveling at the edges.

~

I sipped my coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me as I sat on a bench in the hospital's roof garden. The chilly air carried a mix of fresh, earthy scents and the rich aroma of my drink. "This feels good," I murmured, letting it settle my nerves.

Haru came over and sat down beside me, his expression unreadable. "Did you two fight?" he asked, glancing sideways at me.

I shook my head, looking out at the cityscape. "Not really."

"Then what—" Haru's phone buzzed, cutting him off mid-sentence. He pulled it from his jacket pocket, glancing at the screen before answering in a soft tone, "Hey, what's up?"

The screen flashed a single heart emoji before he answered. He's got a new girlfriend already? I thought, glancing away as he began talking to the unknown girl on the line. I took another sip of my coffee, the warmth almost grounding me. It hasn't been long since his last breakup, maybe three months?

Haru always seemed to bounce back so easily, moving forward like nothing had ever fazed him. I couldn't help but envy the way he handled his life with such ease.

When he finally hung up, I turned to him. "When did you even find time to get a new girlfriend?"

Haru scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "Uh... we ended up as partners for an assignment. Things just clicked, I guess." He fidgeted with his phone, flipping it over in his hands.

"Aha..." I nodded, swirling the coffee in my cup. The silence stretched between us, thick and a little awkward.

After a moment, Haru leaned closer and showed me a picture of her on his phone. "Her calm demeanor somehow reminds me of you," he said, his tone oddly serious.

I looked at the photo. She had short black hair in a neat bob, deep black eyes framed by long lashes, and a fair complexion with slightly plump lips. Her resemblance to me was uncanny, almost strange. What's that supposed to mean? My gaze lingered on the screen, then shifted to Haru's face beside hers. He was beaming in the photo, an open, genuine smile I hadn't seen in a long time.

"You must really like her," I murmured, the words coming out softly as an unfamiliar sensation curled through my chest.

Haru slid his phone back into his pocket, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I do. I'm even considering marrying her after graduation."

The words hit me like a cold gust of wind, and before I even registered them, my fingers went numb. The cup slipped from my grip, spilling coffee across the floor and splashing onto my pants. "Ack!" I gasped as the hot liquid stung my skin, my heart pounding painfully against my rib cage. What's this feeling?

"Myung! You and those clumsy hands!" Haru chided, his tone showing his worry. He quickly stood up and dropped to one knee in front of me, pulling up the cuff of my pants to check my right shin.

I stared down at him, barely feeling the sting of the coffee anymore. His touch was gentle as he inspected my leg, muttering to himself, "It doesn't look too bad, but still... does it hurt?"

I shook my head, but the words felt stuck in my throat. "No, it's... it's fine," I managed, looking away as a strange warmth settled in my chest.

"Let's get down to the ER and have it looked at; you need to treat it right away," Haru insisted, standing up, his expression unyielding.

"I'm okay. It's not that serious..." I muttered, feeling strangely unsettled, my mind still reeling from his words.

"Shut up, you brat," he scolded, grabbing my wrist and tugging me back inside the building.

I followed him without a word, without resistance, letting him lead the way. But as we walked, my thoughts became a muddled mess, a mix of confusion and restlessness that I couldn't ignore.

Why do I feel... unhappy?

I thought back to what he'd said about marriage, about how serious he was about this new girl. Maybe it's because I never imagined Haru would be this serious about anyone, I reasoned, though the thought felt thin. But why should it matter to me whether he was serious or not?

It's none of my business who he wants to marry, I reminded myself. So why?

My thoughts spun through every possible reason. Maybe it's an inferiority complex? I wondered. Maybe I'm just jealous that he's found someone special while I haven't yet. Or maybe it was the fear of change—the knowledge that once Haru got married, our friendship might never feel quite the same. After all, most people felt a hint of melancholy when their closest friends started new lives without them.

Yet, even as I tried to settle on a reason, none of it felt complete.

*****

Days passed, turning into two, maybe three weeks, and chemotherapy was no longer effective for Shian. All the doctors agreed: this was the end for him.

Shian, too, had given up on getting better. His thoughts grew darker with each passing day. His only wish now was that the pain would finally stop, no matter the cost, even if it meant embracing death.

I fought to deny the truth, but it haunted me sooner than I'd expected.

~

I walked into Shian's room and froze—the monitors blared loudly, the screens showing the unmistakable flat line. His heart had stopped. My eyes widened in shock, and I dropped my backpack to the floor, rushing to his side. I pressed the emergency button and climbed onto the bed, positioning myself over him. Placing my palms on his chest, I started compressions, my movements fast and desperate.

"No... No... No... Shian!" My heart raced, and I pushed harder, silently pleading. "Come on! Don't do this to me!" I glanced up at the monitor, searching for any flicker of life, but it remained flat. Cold sweat ran down my spine and forehead, but I kept going with every ounce of strength I had.

Moments later, the door burst open as a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, their faces set with urgency. A strong hand grabbed my shoulder, forcing me back and away from Shian. "We'll take over," one of the doctors said firmly, guiding me out of their way.

I stumbled back, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as I watched them surround Shian's lifeless body, taking over where I had left off. I could only stand there, my heart pounding, helpless. My hands were still trembling, tinged with a cold sweat as I clung to the edge of the bed frame, unable to tear my eyes away from him. It was like everything around me had narrowed to just that space, just that one heartbeat we were all waiting for.

One of the doctors performed chest compressions with relentless precision, his hands pressing down rhythmically on Shian's chest, while a nurse adjusted the oxygen mask over his face. The monitor continued to show a flat line, a hollow, insistent beep echoing in the room, hammering the finality of it into my mind with each sound.

"Clear!" the doctor called, and everyone stepped back as he applied the defibrillator paddles to Shian's chest. His body jolted upward slightly, but the line on the monitor stayed flat. "Again!" he ordered, repeating the shock, but with each attempt, there was nothing. No response. The lines didn't flicker; Shian remained motionless.

I gripped the railing tightly, my nails digging into my palms as I willed him to move, to open his eyes, to give any sign of life. Please, I thought desperately, my mind in a torrent of denial. This can't be it...

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor finally stepped back, his shoulders slumping. He looked over at the team, giving them a subtle shake of his head before glancing my way. His expression said it all—exhaustion, acceptance, and that look I'd seen in doctors' eyes when they knew there was nothing more they could do.

One of the nurses placed a gentle hand on my arm, but I barely registered it, my mind blank, my body numb. Shian was gone. I stood there in a haze, feeling a vast emptiness open up inside me as I looked down at him. His face was still, his suffering finally over, but the reality of it cut through me like a blade. My entire being seemed hollowed out as if by some unknown force.

My mind drifted to what he said weeks ago, his words echoing back to me.

"I wish I could sleep and not wake up in pain anymore."

A pang of grief twisted inside me, a sharp, piercing ache that felt endless.

Shian was gone...

*****

The day of Shian's funeral arrived, cloaked in somber silence. The gray skies mirrored the heavy atmosphere as people gathered in a subdued, solemn crowd, their dark clothing a symbol of shared grief. His funeral was held in a small traditional hall, with walls lined in wood and soft white paper lanterns casting a muted glow over the room. Everything felt muted as if the world itself had mourned along with us.

In the center of the hall was a portrait of Shian, carefully framed and draped in a black ribbon—a symbol of farewell to the living. He looked so young in the photo, his eyes bright and full of life. Beneath it sat a table adorned with food offerings and white chrysanthemums, their stark petals vivid against the dark wood, representing both purity and the fleeting nature of life.

I stood in the line to pay my respects, clutching a single chrysanthemum in my hand, its petals soft and fragile, like the remnants of a life that had slipped too soon from our grasp. Bowing deeply in front of Shian's portrait, I placed the flower on the altar, whispering a quiet goodbye.

Shiwoo stood nearby, his face hollow with grief, his shoulders slumped as if he could no longer carry the weight of loss. Haru was by his side, his usually bright eyes dimmed with sorrow, his hand resting on Shiwoo's shoulder in quiet support. Shiwoo's parents were crying quietly as they were sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. I watched them for a moment, feeling my own chest tighten with the ache of it all.

At the end of the hall, the funeral director gave a solemn nod, signaling the final step: the procession to the burial site. Family and close friends were given a small white ribbon to pin over their hearts, a traditional token that symbolized the final separation between the living and the deceased. I accepted mine with trembling fingers, pinning it over my chest, feeling the weight of goodbye settle even deeper.

As we left the hall, I followed the procession to the burial site, each step feeling heavier than the last. The wind carried a biting chill, and I pulled my coat tighter around me, my gaze locked on the ground ahead.

Just then, an arm slipped around my shoulders, breaking the haze of my grief. I looked up and found Haru beside me, a faint, reassuring smile on his face. His hand rested firmly on my shoulder, and his fingers gave a gentle squeeze as if to say, It's okay. I'm here.

I liked Haru's warmth.

I liked how he was always there, steady and unshaken, ready to hold me whenever I needed it.

Maybe that was why, despite everything, I could never bring myself to push him away.