Love.

The fluorescent lights of the school hallway hummed, a stark contrast to the frantic beating of Jisung's heart. He stood a few feet away from Minho, his hands trembling slightly as he held out a single, perfect crimson rose. His gaze was fixed on the worn tiles beneath his sneakers, a blush creeping up his neck and dusting his ears a delicate pink.

"I like you." His hands formed the words in hesitant sign language, each movement deliberate yet filled with a palpable nervousness.

Jisung, the boy who navigated the boisterous hallways in a quiet world of his own, had harbored this secret since their early days in middle school.

Minho, two years their senior and a silent enigma who seemed to exist on the periphery of their class, had inexplicably captured Jisung's attention. Minho rarely spoke, only offering clipped responses if directly addressed by a teacher.

Yet, Jisung had often caught Minho's gaze lingering on him – a fleeting moment of intense focus that Jisung had desperately clung to, interpreting it as something more than mere observation.

The initial attempts to connect had been a clumsy dance of unspoken words and frustrated gestures. Jisung would try to communicate with Minho using basic sign language he'd picked up, his hopeful expressions often dissolving into awkward silences as Minho's brow furrowed in confusion.

The inability to bridge that silent gap had been a constant ache, a barrier between his burgeoning feelings and the object of his affection.

Their connection finally sparked during a paired science assignment. Forced into proximity, a hesitant understanding began to bloom. Jisung, with his patient gestures and expressive eyes, slowly started to unravel the quiet mystery that was Minho. Minho, in turn, found a strange comfort in Jisung's calm presence and unwavering effort.

It was Jisung who initiated the learning of sign language, painstakingly teaching Minho the alphabet and basic phrases during their study sessions. To Jisung's delight, Minho proved to be a surprisingly quick learner, his long fingers moving with an unexpected grace.

Now, standing here, the culmination of years of unspoken feelings hung heavy in the air. Minho's reaction was immediate and profound. His usually impassive face registered a shock that widened his dark eyes, followed by a wave of overwhelming emotion.

His breath hitched, and a tremor ran through his slender frame. He looked from the rose in Jisung's outstretched hands to Jisung's downcast face, a whirlwind of disbelief and something akin to... hope?

Minho finally found his voice, his words a little rough, as if rarely used, while his hands mirrored his speech in rapid, almost frantic signs, "Jisung... you... you like me?" His voice was barely a whisper, laced with an incredulity that tugged at Jisung's heart.

A tear escaped Jisung's eye, tracing a lonely path down his cheek. He nodded fiercely, his hands signing with a raw urgency that transcended his usual shyness, "Yes, Minho. So much. For so long."

Minho's own eyes began to glisten. The weight of his past, the stark reality of his solitary upbringing in the orphanage, crashed down on him. He was an anomaly, a silent child raised by kind strangers, with no roots, no history of his own. How could someone like Jisung, someone who radiated warmth and kindness, ever truly care for someone like him?

He spoke, his voice thick with unshed tears, his hands signing with a desperate tremor, "Jisung... you don't understand. I... I have nothing. No family... no... future like yours. Your parents... they are good people. They have plans for you... a good education... a good life. What can I offer you? I'm just... an orphan." His voice cracked on the last word, the pain of his unknown origins echoing in the silent hallway.

Jisung's heart ached at Minho's words. He stepped closer, his own tears flowing freely now. He reached out, his small hands gently framing Minho's face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had begun to spill. His eyes, filled with a fierce, unwavering emotion, conveyed a depth of feeling that words alone could never capture.

His hands signed, each movement deliberate and imbued with the entirety of his being, "Minho... look at me. You are not 'just' an orphan. You are Minho. You are kind, you are strong, you are intelligent. You learned my language. You understand me without words sometimes. You are... you are everything to me."

More tears streamed down Minho's face, his carefully constructed walls of self-doubt beginning to crumble under the force of Jisung's raw emotion. He shook his head, a choked sob escaping his lips. "But... my past... it's just... empty."

Jisung's hands tightened on Minho's cheeks, his gaze unwavering.

"Your past does not define you, Minho. Your present is with me. And your future... your future can be with me too. My parents... they will see your heart. They will see how much you mean to me. Your worth isn't in who your parents were, it's in who you are. And who you are... is someone I love." His final sign for 'love' was accompanied by a fresh wave of tears, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

Minho's breath hitched again, a strangled sound that spoke volumes of the internal battle he was waging. The years of feeling like an outsider, like someone inherently less, were being challenged by the pure, unadulterated love shining in Jisung's eyes. He reached up, his own trembling hands covering Jisung's, holding them tight against his wet cheeks.

He spoke, his voice thick with emotion, his signs shaky but clear, "So... so I am no longer an orphan...?"

Jisung's own tears blurred his vision. He shook his head, a soft smile gracing his lips as he reached out and pulled Minho into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of Minho's neck. His hands signed against Minho's shoulder, a silent promise, "Never again, Minho. Never again."

★

Minho's eyelids fluttered open, a residual tightness clinging to his chest, a phantom echo of raw emotion he couldn't quite place. A sheen of unshed tears still clung to his tired lashes. Soft light filtered through the familiar curtains of their small apartment, casting a gentle glow on the worn floral wallpaper he and Jisung had painstakingly hung when they first moved in together during university.

His gaze drifted to the digital clock on the nightstand: 7:03 AM, Tuesday.

He stared at the time for a moment, a disoriented frown creasing his brow before his hand instinctively reached under his pillow, fingers closing around his phone. The bright screen illuminated the date; May 9th, 2024.

He was back. Back in the past, a mere four months separating him from his twenty-third birthday – the day he would, in the future, take his own life.
His eyes flickered to the rumpled space beside him in the bed, the indentation a silent testament to Jisung's recent presence.

His lover, the ever-punctual early bird, would likely be in the kitchen already, preparing their breakfast.

Despite his initial impulse to return with a desire to inflict pain, to make Jisung's life as miserable as his own had become before his end, a profound conflict now stirred within Minho. He couldn't bring himself to intentionally hurt the boy whose kindness seemed to illuminate the world.

A painful question arose-- was Jisung's future choice to be with someone else a consequence of Minho's own perceived inadequacy? Had Minho's deep-seated belief that he, an orphan with nothing but his feelings to offer, simply not been enough for someone as radiant as Jisung?

Yet, the memory of the future, a future only four short months away, still clawed at his heart. What if... just what if he tried harder? What if he attempted to truly prove to Jisung that he could be enough?

"You said I was everything for you, but was I really?"