EPHEMERAL
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lasting for a very short time

If Jisung is hellbent on dying, Minho figures that he should help pack up what little is left of Jisung's abandoned belongings in what once was a shared room. The sun streams through the two windows, painting wide slabs of pale yellow on the cold floor below and coating the entire room in secondhand sunlight.

It's too painful to look at Jisung's forgotten trinkets any longer. The cheap sticker packet that's been stripped down to dull, gray stickers that deserve no place clinging to Jisung's rainbow-fied belongings. Jisung's beloved headphones lay haphazardly on where he should be in bed, sadly gathering dust on the side.

Perhaps, if Minho just rid the room of everything 'Jisung', he would cope with his inevitable death. It's the only thing he can do, anyway.

"Minho, I don't think this is healthy," says his mother over the phone he should've turned in by now. "I don't want you neglecting yourself over this...friend of yours. I'm certain he wouldn't want you to either!"

Minho grits his teeth. All these words of wisdom. Nobody ever takes a step back to remember how they got here. At the beginning. In their adolescence, dreaming, idealizing. About the happy endings and the best before all the good has gone bad.

When did he forget all of that? Life isn't fair, the world isn't kind and won't stop moving just because you found it hard to catch up. Maybe he was expecting the world to stand still for a couple of decades so he can try to make sense of his fucked up reality. So he could live, maybe? So Jisung could live, rather.

Minho doesn't realize how strange and horrendously bland the dorm rooms look without Jisung's bits and bobs sitting in random places until they're gone.

"Minho? Are you there?" comes from somewhere near his right shoulder. Minho shakily sighs into the phone and attempts to clear his dry throat.

"Yeah. Just throwing a fucking pity party," Minho hoarsely replies.

"Language."

"Whatever," Minho grumbles. A storm cloud collects over his head, beginning to storm. "I hate everything about this place," he slams a fist into his pillow. "My friend is going to die. I hope you're happy. This fucking sucked."

A pause. A tense silence. A crisp click of the tongue. A sigh.

"Minho, I was just trying to help you! I thought you could meet people your age going through the same thing as you! You know I didn't do this to...torture you!"

Dying on her desperate lips, Minho can almost hear an expected: 'I did this to help you!', or an 'I only wanted to help you!', and possibly a 'If you had just gone through with treatment, I would've never put you in there!', or possibly none at all. In that event, should Minho feel thankful? Should he reach somewhere in between where his heart is tender and painful and search desperately for the emotion known as...thanks?

Should he then, shun his emotions for being so unreasonable for the sake of his mother's everlasting happiness, and thank her for the wonderful opportunity of slowly watching his friend die? Should he ignore the roiling despair stewed in his stomach in favor of sparing his mother's guilt for refusing his rightful wish to pass peacefully?

"Minho. I'm sorry about your friend. But you cannot blame what's happening on me...or on yourself. Please, cool down and call me later."

An abrupt decline in volume, a cutting wire, and Minho doesn't realize the call has ended until he stares at the dark screen of his phone in a haze.

The device wavers limply in his palm. It's like holding his heart after prying it from his chest: cold and barely beating.

Everything and all is still silent. Is he still breathing, or have his lungs failed him too? What remains is a numbing pulse resonating through his body that he cannot bring himself to understand. It doesn't seem to belong to him, rather, a phantom presence; a mere ghost of a feeling he should have.

Minho closes his eyes and wonders where he learned to be so selfish.

It's Jisung's life. He has every right in the world to cut it short.

After packing up a flimsy cardboard box with the remnants of Jisung's existence (excuse Minho for being so dramatic), he tries his hand at approaching Jisung in his room. Again.

Luckily for Minho (exclusively), Jisung left the door cracked ajar for an unsuspected entry.

The curtains are pulled shut — only dim sunlight is allowed to seep through the sides, casting a dull light that leaves the rest of the room submerged in shadows. Jisung is but an inconspicuous bundle huddled underneath his covers. Still asleep.

Before Minho decides to turn around in the dust kicked by his haste to leave, he does, at the very least, slide the packed box closer to Jisung without disturbing him. He sighs and hopes he's bitten back the snort and series of tears threatening to break through.

Selfishly, Minho brushes a small clump of hair off of Jisung's forehead and tucks it behind his ear. Jisung's skin is cold and almost brittle, and his hair strands move through Minho's fingers like sand.

"Goodbye, Jisung," Minho whispers, his syllables soaked to the edges. "Sleep well."

Jisung stirs, letting out a soft groan. His eyelashes flutter a few times before slowly parting. He smiles weakly at Minho when he sees him leaning over his bedside. Likely dazed.

"Minho?" Jisung peeps quietly, like a whisper. The corners of his smile curl into tiny crescents.

Minho's heart floods with relief. The glacial castle that Jisung built around himself, in this moment, begins to melt. Selfishly, Minho decides to take advantage of it.

"I'm here," Minho assures, patting Jisung's head gently. His hair has thinned out. "How are you doing?"

Jisung doesn't respond. Instead, he stretches out his arms and makes grabby hands at Minho.

Minho's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He considers it for a brief second before giving in to Jisung's puppy eyes. He leans down into Jisung's embrace and allows Jisung to wrap his thin arms around his neck. Minho stiffens in Jisung's hold, unsure of what to do.

"You're warm," Jisung comments, nuzzling his face against Minho's shoulder.

Minho tries not to focus on how Jisung's cheekbones poke into his skin and how Jisung's ribs feel like they're going to snap if he presses any harder against Minho's torso. He opts to gingerly drape his arms over Jisung's frail frame instead.

"You're cold," Minho responds, a bit blunt.

"I'm sick," Jisung reminds him, giggling. "I'm supposed to be cold."

Minho can't help but return Jisung's infectious grin with one of his own. Minho holds Jisung closely and basks in his presence — memorizing the way Jisung smells like lavender, how Jisung fits perfectly into his embrace, how Jisung's hair feels like silk against his cheeks, how Jisung's chest rises and falls with each breath, and how Jisung's heart beats rhythmically in his chest.

Jisung is here. Jisung is alive.

It's bittersweet.

Minho allows his eyes to slip shut, engraving these memories into his brain. He's selfish. He wants to remember Jisung like this forever.

It's selfish and greedy, but Minho pretends he won't have to say goodbye so soon.

Roommate Vulnerability Assignment: Day Twenty-Nine

Change tests our resilience and adaptability. It strips us of comfort, forcing us into the unknown. In these moments, it's important to remember our strength. Change doesn't ask for permission; it arrives uninvited, often leaving us with no choice but to adapt to it or be left behind. By sharing our experiences with change, we can build bridges of understanding and empathize with one another.

Q: Describe a significant change you experienced. How did it impact your life, and what did you learn about yourself through this process?

Since Jisung's condition has significantly worsened over the last few weeks, Minho opts to spend an excessive amount of time with him in the dormitory. The staff and doctors at the hospital seem to be in a tizzy as of late, flitting in and out of Jisung's room with little regard for Jisung's privacy. They send nurses to check on Jisung every hour on the dot — looking to test his temperature, blood pressure, oxygen levels, etcetera. It's clear that Jisung despises it.

Perhaps, searching for a semblance of normalcy, the two decide to delve back into their Roommate Vulnerability assignments.

"I guess the biggest change in my life was when I became an idol," Jisung explains, refusing Minho's gaze in favor of studying the grooves in the ceiling.

Minho nods in acknowledgment. Jisung continues:

"At first, it was everything I had ever dreamed of. It promised good money, and I didn't grow up with a lot, so my parents really depended on me doing it."

Minho notes how Jisung's lips are pulled into a thin line as he speaks. There's a slight, yet prominent, furrow in Jisung's brows. It's strange: Jisung's mouth is smiling, but his eyes are not. Minho doesn't comment on it. He'd rather listen to Jisung ramble about nonsense than ever interrupt him.

"It made me happy," Jisung continues. "Seeing my mom smile when I gave her the extra cash. It felt like I was finally contributing to the family, y'know?"

Minho hums, shifting uncomfortably atop the mattress. Jisung pauses to wipe the tears pooling at his waterline and to swallow down the crack out of his voice.

After a moment, he continues: "They never told me they were proud of me... and I kinda' got obsessed with hearing it whenever I made money. Jisung, I'm so proud of you. Jisung, I love you," he mocks.

Minho grimaces, feeling sick to his stomach. He doesn't interrupt Jisung. He doesn't feel like he has the right to.

"When I got diagnosed with cancer," Jisung starts, sighing softly, "they didn't really seem to care. It felt like it ruined all of my dreams. Like, I was suddenly a burden to them. I felt like a failure for the longest time, Minho. I still kinda' do..."

Minho chews on his lower lip, trying to restrain himself from saying something that could possibly add further salt to injury. Jisung sniffles, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his pajama shirt.

"I–I think I learned that I should have seen it coming," Jisung concludes with a rueful laugh. "I ended up with no money for my cancer treatment, my parents alienating me over my sexuality, and becoming the very thing I feared for years."

Minho hesitantly reaches over and brushes away a stray tear that rolls down Jisung's cheek. He smiles weakly when Jisung offers a tentative smile in return.

"I'm sorry, Jisung," Minho murmurs, tracing the outer shell of Jisung's ear with his index finger. "You... You don't deserve any of that. None of it."

Jisung sniffles, closing his eyes and leaning into Minho's touch. Minho's heartstrings pull and tug and rip and stab in a thousand places.

"You're too good for them. Way too good," Minho affirms, brushing his thumb across Jisung's cheek. He wants to ask: 'Is this why you have no fight left?' and 'Is this why you're not even willing to try?', but those questions are atomic bombs waiting to blow.

Minho bites his tongue.

"I–I think that if I knew someone cared about me," Jisung begins to sob, "then it'd—sniff!—I'd probably fight for it. To live. B–But it feels like a waste, honestly."

Minho feels like Jisung has just taken a blade and driven it through his ribcage and into his heart. The sensation is sharp, piercing, and Minho's heart thrums wildly in his chest.

"I wanted to get better, Minho," Jisung cries. "B–But it's hard when you feel like you have nothing to live for. I–I feel so stupid."

Minho wraps his arms around Jisung and pulls him close. He allows Jisung to sob into the fabric of his shirt, his entire body trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind. He cards his fingers through Jisung's hair and impulsively presses a tender kiss to the top of Jisung's head.

Minho recalls that moment, that fleeting moment when he had the opportunity to just say something but allowed the words to die on his tongue. It pushed Jisung away from him. It angered Jisung to the point where he allowed himself to wither away to this point.

Never again, Minho promises to himself. Even if it comes out all jumbled and awkward, and so stupid, Minho has to do it. He takes a leap of faith. He jumps off the cliff.

"I care about you, Jisung."

Jisung's sobs falter slightly. Minho thinks Jisung may have stopped breathing for a moment. But Minho's mouth has become a waterfall, words flowing freely and impulsively and shamelessly. It feels all like those crescendo moments in romance television shows, where one's soul is laid bare for the other to see.

"I care about you," Minho repeats, giving Jisung's shoulder a squeeze. "I–I promise. Shit, I care about you so much that it breaks me that you won't try. I–I hate seeing you like this, Jisung. It hurts. It hurts so much."

Minho doesn't know when, during that whole monologue, that he began to cry, but it's evident in how his mouth tastes entirely of saltwater. He's cried so frequently since he started Star Lost that he's grown desensitized to the stinging sensation, he supposes.

Jisung pulls away from Minho and their tear-stained eyes meet. Jisung looks utterly distraught. It makes Minho want to take his words back — erase them from existence — because Jisung doesn't deserve to feel this way. Not at all.

"Y–You care?" Jisung's voice is scarcely above a whisper, hoarse and raspy.

Minho nods.

"Fucking hell, Jisung, of course I do. So, please. Try. You... You don't have to fight alone. I'm here. I'll be here. Always."

Always.

It's a big word. It's a scary word. Terrifying. Minho has never been one to use such a definitive word like that — one that implies permanence — especially when cancer looms at every corner, ready to strike right when his life is getting back on track. Still, here Minho is, promising 'forever' to Jisung, even when it seems far-fetched.

"Promise?" Jisung asks, his lips quivering and his eyes glazed over with a fresh sheen of tears.

Minho takes Jisung's hands in his own. They're ice cold with the fury of a thousand winters. Minho intertwines Jisung's trembling fingers with his own.

"I promise."

Author's Note.

I apologize for the short chapter today. I hope it didn't feel as short as it actually is, LOL. Jisung is finally agreeing to get better! Yay! Thank you all for sticking by on this 22K angst fest. Let me know all your thoughts and feelings so far! Also, what kind of ending do you predict this story will have?

Please don't be silent, and let me know all your thoughts about this so far! 💭

Leave comments 💬 and votes ⭐️ if you enjoyed!

♥ – Lia