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***
Hyunjin has lived with Minho for more than a year now. He doesn’t want to die. And yet he still feels like killing himself.
***
“Channie-hyung just texted me.” His boyfriend places a cup of coffee on the kitchen counter. “Innie’s discharge is next week.”
He’s doodling on a dollar-store notebook when Minho announces that. It’s been over a year or so since they first moved here, Hyunjin figures. It feels just like yesterday, when Minho drafted a written message in his name congratulating Jeongin for starting his enlistment, when they boarded the plane leaving Seoul not too long after that.
Time passes. He stays on the same page.
“Hyunjin.”
“Hm.”
“Is there anything you wanna say to Jeongin? They’re all going to his discharge ceremony.”
“Are you going, too, hyung?”
Minho scoffs.
“How am I gonna go? I’m a whole Pacific Ocean away from them.”
“You should.” Hyunjin sing-songs, “I’m sure they all miss you.”
“Hyunjin.”
Minho calls his name again, louder and more serious this time.
“When are you planning to go back, then? If not now?”
“I’m living here with you.” His boyfriend emphasizes, “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”
Hyunjin shrugs.
“The company’s probably planning for a group comeback after Jeongin’s discharge.”
“So what?” Minho sits down on the counter stool on his left. “It was them who put me on this indefinite hiatus. Let’s focus on Innie for now. I’ll ask hyung to bring some flowers under our names; how does that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you feel like writing a letter or record a voice message for him?”
“I don’t think he wants anything from me.”
Minho sighs.
“That’s not true. Innie asks about you all the time.”
Hyunjin looks down at his baggy, long-sleeve shirt. His arms hidden underneath. His scars hidden underneath.
“Weird.” He pulls his own phone out. “Innie only sends me good morning and goodnight messages. I wonder if he thought our chat was his bubble.”
“That’s because never get back to him.” Minho pauses and corrects himself, “You don’t ever get back to anyone. They usually ask me how you’re doing.”
“Oh.” Hyunjin puts his phone away, turning back to the doodle. “Sorry.”
Minho doesn’t push him. Minho never pushes him.
Minho loves him.
***
Hyunjin never replies to messages. Not any more.
All of them still send him stuff nontheless. Jeongin, for example, makes sure to update him when he gets up and goes to bed, occasionally sending over some cool OOTD selfies. Like a bubble subscription, but for free, and he doesn’t have anything to say back
Likewise, Seungmin likes to talk about food, always offering a full itemized list of his breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu. Kimchi-jjigae is so good here, he would type, bet you couldn’t find anything this authentic in America.
Felix’s messages are sporatic, and depending on his mood of the day. Some of them are in English, some in Korean, some typed up in French or Chinese but failed midway of the sentence.
Jisung probably has an alarm on his phone as remainders, because every time he receives a message from him, it happens to be at the exact same time. The content is more predictable: be happy, Hyunjinnie; please smile at least once today for me.
(And every time, he will lift up the corners of his lips as much as he can. It never really looks like he’s smiling, but at least he tries.)
Changbin doesn’t talk much over messages. All the chat history is filled with the rapper’s random spur of inspiration, like a memo. It’s hard to tell if some sentences are intended for him to hear — I wish I had been there; I wish your life wasn’t filled with despair.
And Chan, his most admired and trusted leader, doesn’t have the time and energy for daily message services like the others. He rarely hears from him through the chat, but from time to time, a long, long hand-written letter will arrive at his email account, or mail box, if they get lucky with the international shipping.
They have their own ways to work around this one-sided communication. Hyunjin makes sure to turn on the ‘read’ function for all, just so they know their words aren’t going down an abyss into nothingness. He reads every single one of them. He reads them attentively, religiously. He reads once, twice, so many times that he could recite most without a glitch.
They love him.
***
Hyunjin isn’t completely unloved. He doesn’t want to die. And yet he still feels like killing himself.
***
Minho has a new routine in this new city. Hyunjin doesn’t.
His boyfriend is still an early riser, who gets up in the morning to prepare breakfast for them, or save half of it for later if Hyunjin struggles to wake up. He spends the whole morning home, keeping up with all correspondence, taking care of their cat, doing house chores, or sitting next to Hyunjin — awake or not — to bath him with his presence.
They then have lunch together, a quick meal with tea for Minho and coffee for Hyunjin. After that, Minho leaves for those free English classes offered by the local Korean community for first generation immigrants, followed by a visit to his childhood friend’s dance club here, to help out with the training and to channel his dancer soul, until the sun’s setting.
And he knows that it’s time to go back home.
Hyunjin spends the afternoon and early evening alone. On good days, he leaves the apartment every other day. He walks to the fruit store or H-mart for grocery, the latter playing their old songs from time to time. He takes the streetcar to the farmers market, located in a teaching hospital on top of a hill, and brings some nicely baked goods home. He sits in the aerial tram station there. His eyes take in the beautiful scenery of Mount Hood and St. Helens. He wanders around this foreign city like a lost ghost.
On bad days, he barely functions. He tries not to set his hands on anything sharp. He tries not to draw too many fresh lines. He tries not to overdose himself with allergy and pain medication. He tries to dance. He tries to draw. He tries to create. He tries to clean the litter and groom their cat. He tries to stay still. He tries to stay alive and greet Minho when he gets back home.
Their dinner can be take-out, home deliveries, or nice things Hyunjin bought at the hilltop farmers market. It’s more for the talk than for the actual food consumption. They share how they spend the day. They watch some shows on Netflix and discuss the plot. They rinse the dishes and turn on the dishwasher. They kiss and make out on the sofa. They bring their cat to the family cuddle.
Sometimes Minho checks on his old and new wounds. Sometimes the sexy moments suddenly turn unsexy because of his wounds. Sometimes he shows Minho his progress, some half-formed topline and lyrics and doodles and drawings. (He doesn’t paint any more; it takes too much from him to paint.)
And Minho always says, you did well today. Minho says, I’m proud of you.
I don’t believe you, Hyunjin says.
Hyunjin doesn’t pretend to love himself in front of Minho. Not any more.
Minho understands.
***
In one of those evenings, Minho asks him if he’s ever interested in buying a house.
“Do you not like this apartment?” Hyunjin asks back. “It feels nice living here.”
“My friend at the dance club knows a couple who’re getting rid of their old house. It’s a good price and convenient location.”
“Why?”
“They’re starting a new job and moving to the other coast. My friend’s helping out, and he thought of me first.”
“Why?”
“I asked him about buying a house recently.”
“Why?”
“I want to own a house with you.”
“Why?”
Minho sighs.
“He sent me some pictures of the listing. It looks nice and bright. It’s recently renovated and overlooks the view of the river and waterfront. It doesn’t have a pool but a sun-lit garden. A patio, too, facing south. There’s another farmers marker nearby.”
“Why do you want to own a house with me?”
“I’m sending you the pictures.”
Hyunjin repeats himself.
“Why do you want to own a house with me?”
“Because we can afford it. Why not? Do you like moving around?”
“Why do you want to settle down with me?”
Minho put his phone down.
“I just want to own a house with you. That’s all. It makes me happy.”
Hyunjin took a deep breath.
“I don’t have a future.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t have a future, Lee Minho.” He hisses, “I’m already dead before we moved here. I’m already dead before I jumped off that building.”
“…”
“Don’t waste your time on me.”
“I booked the appointment.” Minho says, “We’ll have a in-person tour with my friend.”
“… Okay.”
***
Hyunjin wants to make Minho happy. He doesn’t want to die. And yet he still feels like killing himself.
***
Although not physically there, they still dress up for Jeongin’s discharge ceremony, their cat included.
Their members are all attending as promised, congratulating the accomplishment of their golden maknae. Their fans, staff members, and media representatives are all there, too. There’re flower bouquets in all of their hands, except for Chan, who’s holding two extra ones carefully in his arms.
“Thank you all for coming to witness our Stray Kids maknae’s discharge today.” Chan addresses formally, “I’m also here presenting two of our members, who are unable to join us in person. I’ve brought flowers on their behalf’s and per their request.”
Slowly, slowly, the phantom pain seeps out of Hyunjin’s healed wounds.
There’s a moment silence following Chan’s words. The bright, fabricated smile on Jeongin’s face doesn’t waver. Short hair. Navy blue uniform. Eyes fold together in soft curves. The members remain composed. The fans stop the panic chitchatting after a few seconds. One of the reporters raise her hand.
“Stray Kids is known for their close connection between members.” She says, “We expected to see Lee Minho and Hwang Hyunjin attending this ceremony, too. Why aren’t they here? Have they ever come back ever since their departure for America?”
Lee Minho-ssi roll his eyes in disdain.
Yang Jeongin in the tv chuckles.
“I thought you know the reasons better than us, reporter-nim.” Their golden maknae replied, wearing the same smile on his forever young face. “It’s interesting that you’re asking us about it.”
The reporter blinks like a gerbil. “What do you mean?”
“Was it not you, though? At the airport more than a year ago?” Yang Jeongin acts surprised. “It must be someone looking exactly like you, then. Wrestling with the bodyguards. Asking if they feel shameful for unable to fulfill their mandatory military enlistment. I’m glad that weren’t you. I would be a lot more shameful in that position.”
There’s a quick uproar in the audience. Quickly instigated. Quickly silenced. Another reporter raises his microphone.
“It’s undeniable that both Lee Minho and Hwang Hyunjin failed to complete their enlistment.” He reads aloud from a piece of paper. “Hwang Hyunjin was deemed disqualified after his hospital admission. Lee Minho was put on six-month unsupervised probation for conducting physical assault a week before his date of discharge. They —”
“You know the reasons.” Jeongin cuts him off, “All of you know why Hwang Hyunjin fell off the building that night.”
People are screaming in the background. Their fans. They company staff. Everyone else present. Yang Jeongin doesn’t react, neither do the other members.
“The investigation has shown it was just a suicide attempt —”
“Who pushed him?” Jeongin asks, smile bright and bedazzling.
“… Do you understand what a suicide is? No one —”
“What pushed him?”
Was it the wind? Was it the starlight? Was it the faint glow of a new moon?
Was it the words? Was it the voices? Was it the whispers enticing him to take one step farther?
Minho turns off the tv.
“Damn, Jeonginnie.” His boyfriend comments nonchalantly, “He’s grown up well.”
“…”
“The company PR will have a meltdown after this.”
“…”
“It’s not your fault.”
Their cat lies down on Hyunjin’s stomach, paws opening and closing, claws digging into his cardigan and flesh. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing really hurts him at this point.
Hyunjin has developed a high tolerance of pain.
“Channie-hyung asked you something else, didn’t him?”
“… How did you know?”
“He asked if we’re planning to go back. I know he asked. I could tell from the way he looked into the camera.”
He knows that Chan was looking for Minho and him through the camera lens.
Minho shifts uncomfortably, placing his palm on the cat. “Yes. He asked about us.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’m planning to buy a house with you here.”
“You’re dumb, hyung.”
“I love you.”
“You’re a dancer. You need to perform.”
“So are you.”
“Not any more.”
His shoulder, hip, and thigh still hurt from time to time, hurt and stiffened. Minho knows. Everyone knows.
He can’t perform anymore. Not by himself. Not with the seven other Stray Kids. He doesn’t have the right.
+++
Minho-hyung loves me back today.
I don’t know what to feel about this. What kind of hyung would confess right before enlistment? How weird. Weird hyung. Dumbo Lee Know.
I know it’s not really a confession. I know he doesn’t love me that much anyways. He’s probably used to me, used to have sex with me and spend time with me. But hearing him call my ‘boyfriend’ makes me so flustered; I think my cheeks are still burning from it.
He can’t be too serious, I have to remind myself over and over again. Minho-hyung likes boys. He thinks of me as one of the boys he could like. So he likes me by that logic.
The thing is: I don’t always feel like a boy. Sometimes I do, sometimes I absolutely don’t. It’s a funny thing to say — to acknowledge — as a member of a boy group. Sometimes I hate the sharp angle of my jaws. Sometimes I hate the masculine styling of clothes. I guess I’m sick. My mind’s sick or my body’s having issues. I don’t feel like myself; I rarely do.
Would Minho-hyung still love me? Would Minho-hyung like someone who’s not really a boy?
I don’t know.
Minho-hyung can call me ‘boyfriend’. I don’t mind that.
I love him nonetheless.
+++
Hyunjin remembered writing it in his diary, before Minho’s enlistment, before his own enlistment a couple month later and within the same sector as his boyfriend’s.
He didn’t know how anyone found out about it.
***
“Huh, ‘Minho-hyung’. An idol who sleeps with his teammate. Disgusting.”
“…”
“They say you were a school bully. What did you do? Did you stick needles into their nails? Did you dump sewage water onto their head? Did you torch their skin with hair straightener? No? You even failed as a bully, didn’t you?”
“…”
“How’re you an idol, seriously? You can’t dance. You just move your pelvis like you wanna be penetrated right on stage. You can’t sing. Your voice sounds like malfunctioning train honk. You can’t rap. You could probably articulate better with filthy dicks in your mouth.”
“…“
“You’re a shame to your family. Your group doesn’t need you. You sweet Minho-hyung doesn’t want you. You know that, don’t you? You’re a pervert. You’re a faggot. You’re barely a man. ”
“…”
“Military is for the real men of Korea. What do you think you’re doing here? ”
“…”
“You’re so useless, Hwang Hyunjin. Why don’t you kill yourself?”
“…”
“Hwang Hyunjin.”
“…”
“You don’t deserve to live.” They said, “Why don’t you kill yourself?”
And he asked, “How?”
They laughed, “Too many ways.”
***
He balanced his body at the very edge of that five-floor-tall building, holding himself up as if dancing. The moonlight was quiet. The stars were quiet. The trees still and the leaves rustling.
Why don’t you kill yourself?
Hyunjin felt light. He wanted to feel lighter.
So he reached forward. Arms open wide like two giant, icarian wings.
He reached. He stepped. He let go of himself.
He fell.
***
No one pushed him.
Everything pushed him.
He didn’t want to die. And yet he still felt like killing himself.
***
He woke up in the hospital to his parent’s arguments.
“I did not work my ass off to raise a sissy, faggot son like him!”
His father said, a harsh slap landed on the right side of his sullen cheek. His mouth was pushed closed, maxilla and mandible crushing on the tip of his tongue.
“Stay off my child!”
His mother pulled the paring knife out of the apple she was peeling. The tip of that sharp blade was pointed towards the outraged man, with whom, unfortunately, he shares the same last name.
The guards and hospital staff came to pull them apart, away from his private room. He couldn’t move his left shoulder, hip, or right leg. His right hand and arm still functioned, so he used them.
He reached for the paring knife on the table.
“How?” He asked.
“Too many ways.” They offered, alluring voice of a siren. “Find a steady enough rope. Get some coals with a lot of smoke. Pick the strongest sleeping pills. Make sure the building is tall enough. Make sure the water is deep enough. Cut vertically not horizontally…”
He held the knife with his right hand, tip pushed into his wrist, little by little, white blade embedded by the redness. And he pulled it towards himself, following the voices in his head, saying, cut vertically not horizontally, because you shouldn’t be saved, Hwang Hyunjin; you shouldn’t be saved by anyone; you need to make it with the first try.
He dragged a long, long line. Until his body’s self-protecting instinct kicked in and made him drop the knife.
He stared at the sheer red, stared and stared, until his mother came back in and screamed.
He didn’t know she could scream like that.
***
It was after the second attempt Hyunjin learned more about the aftermath of his first one.
The building was tall but not tall enough. He was caught by a tree, buffering the momentum of his free falling, and then landed on a grassland. He shattered his left shoulder (with some ribs nearby), right pelvic bone and femur.
“And a concussion,” Minho added, “but it’s not really anything compared to the other injuries.”
The concussion made sense, because Hyunjin didn’t even remember when or why Minho showed up in his hospital room. The time skips were ingrained in his head.
“Boyfriend.”
“Hm.”
“Can I still call you that?”
Hyunjin nodded.
“What they did to you was a crime.” Minho clenched his jaws. “Everyone’s letting it slide. But it’s wrong. It’s unforgivable. I can’t just let them walk away from this and unharmed.”
“I deserve it.”
“That’s not true.” Minho answered, “They wanted you to believe that. You’re letting them win.”
“They’ve won already, hyung.”
“No — No, I won’t let them.” His boyfriend refuted. “They have to pay for the price. If the laws aren’t on my side, I’ll be the law myself.”
It was after Minho left that his mother showed him the press picture on the night of his free fall. Sarcastically addressed as the new La Pietà, taken from Michelangelo’s famous piece of sculpture, was a photography of Minho hovering his hands over Hyunjin’s motionless body. Eyes glistening under the faint moonlight. A touch and yet not a touch. Whose usually calm composure broken into a million pieces.
And the very next article was filled with the news of Lee Minho found guilty for physical assault, towards a seemingly random group of Hwang Hyunjin’s fellow enlistees.
***
With that, both Minho’s and his enlistments ended earlier than their supposed conscription period. An announcement that stirred the strongest objection from the general public for whatever reason possible.
It was his fault. Minho wouldn’t be dragged into this if he made it in the first try. All their members wouldn’t be dragged into this if he made it in the first try.
Chan and Minho came visit him the most often. Changbin was next in line, whose sat day of service used to be the same as Minho. Jisung and Seungmin were still conscripted; it was much harder for them to request the days off, but they did it anyways. Felix flew all the way back from Australia, holding onto his hand, and cried the entire time.
And Jeongin — Jeongin deferred his arranged enlistment dates.
He saw their manager a few times, too, showing up at the same time with Chan and Minho. You will be put on an infinite hiatus for now, he turned to Hyunjin and Minho, once you decide on a place to go, call me again, and I’ll work on the immigration paperwork.
“Where are you going?” Hyunjin asked.
“We’re leaving. Together.” Minho answered, “I’ll take you somewhere safe. Somewhere you can be who you want to be without getting hurt.”
“Why?”
“Because this place disgusts me.”
“Why?”
“I love you, Hyunjinnie.” His boyfriend said, “I can’t live without you.”
Chan brought a thick pile of papers and binders. After discussing the feasibility and practicality of it, Minho and Chan narrowed the range down to Australia and North America.
“My whole family’s there for you.” The leader said, “If you pick Sydney. I’m sure Lixie will figure out things for you, too.”
Minho seemed hesitant.
“There’s also Melbourne; we’ve been to Melbourne before, so you have an idea on what it feels like.” Chan added, “Also Brisbane, if you prefer a smaller city.”
Hyunjin was there, or was he really? He listened to the two hyungs going back and forth; his heavily medicated brain could barely register any words they said.
“Hyunjinnie.” Someone called, “What are your preferences?”
Minho sat down next to him on the hospital bed, and handed him some freshly printed documents. He took them, flipped through them, and pretended that he was reading.
One of the documents gave him a paper cut on the finger tip.
“This.” He pulled out that paper, licking off the blood oozing out. “I like this.”
Minho let him. Chan let him.
They all let him.
***
Hyunjin was discharged from the hospital by the time he was mostly mobile.
His mother brought two luggages for him. Minho’s parents came and said goodbye. Chan was there, too, accompanied them for the move traversing the Pacific Ocean.
“You picked a nice place.” The manager said, giving the passports back to them. “I heard a lot of good things about the Pacific Northwest region. I hope it heals you.”
Minho still requested a wheelchair for him at the airport. His boyfriend pushed him though the guest drop-off area, passing the crowds as if they didn’t exist. Their body guard was at the front parting the way. Chan stayed far back to watch over them.
“Hwang Hyunjin-ssi, have you recovered from your previous attempt? Why did you jump off a building?”
“Lee Minho-ssi, could you elaborate on the reasonings for your physical assault charges? Was it an accident or retaliating for the incident of Hwang Hyunjin-ssi?”
…
“Do you feel shameful for failing your conscription duties? Why are you running away in a hurry?”
Hyunjin flinched.
Minho wanted to say something; Chan stopped him, and gestured for him to take care of Hyunjin for now.
“Say it one more time.”
Chan stood in a straight posture, eyes burning anger.
The reporter backed off.
“Can’t you hear me?” He asked again, louder this time. “Say it one more time.”
The crowds fell silent. The reporter retreated.
Their journey continued.
***
Hyunjin escaped from the hell with Minho by his side. He didn’t want to die. And yet he still felt like killing himself.
***
His hair grows fast.
It was shaved short when they first landed in this city. He hated it, and he kept the beanie on even in the hottest days of summer. It grows and grows and grows like vigorous weeds.
“It’s a lot longer than before.” Minho palms a tuft of his hair, as if holding a soft bird. “The ends are at your neck already.”
The tub is a tight fit for the two of them together. Minho doesn’t mind; he doesn’t mind. He let his boyfriends enclose him in the middle, who put a handful of shampoo on his hair, and gently massaging his scalp with short-nailed fingertips.
“I like it slightly longer.” Hyunjin answers, “I feel more like myself this way.”
“That’s good.”
Hyunjin closes his eyes. His senses are focused on Minho and Minho only; Minho’s cologne scent, Minho’s touches, Minho’s sweet and caring voices.
He doesn’t have the right, and yet he loves Minho more than anything.
“I learned something new from the english class today.” His boyfriend says, “They taught us about pronouns.”
“…”
“Do you remember? Channie-hyung talked about it before.”
“…”
“It’s a term independent of your ID or biology.” Minho continues, “People use it often these days.”
“…”
“Hyunjin.” A light tug on his hair.
“Hm.”
“Do you…?”
Minho doesn’t finish that sentence. Hyunjin knows what he’s trying to ask.
“It’s okay.” He says, “I don’t care.”
“Is that true?”
Hyunjin can’t lie. And Minho doesn’t push him — Minho never pushes him.
He gets out of the bath first, drying himself up with a big, thick towel, and runs off. He can’t recall where exactly they put the condoms and lubes in storage, and he needs to find them before Minho finishes the clean-up in the bathroom.
The lust in his stomach is burning him alive.
Minho gets into the groove quickly, as if he’s also waiting for it to happen. They haven’t touched each other since his fall, and the pain ingrained in his healing wounds only adds to the sensation. The kisses aren’t enough. The chaste hand-holding isn’t enough. Hyung, hyung, He begs, Please — please give it to me.
He lets out a long, long breathe when Minho enters him.
Lying prone, Hyunjin buries his face underneath the pillow, shifting his weight forward, and lets Minho settle the pace. His once-shattered-in-pieces bones are creaking with the metal bed frame. The heat feels familiar. The rhythm feels familiar. The friction burn feels familiar. A whimper escapes his chest, knowing that the past has been done and he — Hwang Hyunjin — has no future to look ahead.
“Hyunjinnie. Jinnie”
Minho. His lover. His light. His savior. His martyr.
“Can I see your face?” His boyfriend begs, too, “I wanna see your face.”
He nods, and pretends that his body isn’t screaming insatiably when Minho pulls out. A pair of steady hands reaches over to his ribcage, and carefully turn him to his side, flipping though as if handling a box marked ‘extremely fragile’.
Minho kisses him again. Starts with the lip to lip touch, and digs deeper, prying the softness to open up. The familiar warmth and fullness is back inside him again.
Hyunjin keeps his eyes closed.
Minho’s looking at him. Minho’s always looking at him. Minho looks at his hair, his eyes, nose and lips in awe. Minho looks at his wounds, stitches, and bleeding cuts in sorrow. Minho never looks at him from above or below. Minho looks at him like his equal.
Minho loves him no matter what.
“Open your eyes for me.”
So he obeys.
Minho’s big, starry eyes shines right above him. Like a diamond. Like a porcelain that was once broken down completely. There’s no one else in his hyung’s eyes. His own reflection makes his stomach churn in repulsion.
Hyunjin starts sobbing while staring into Minho’s eyes. His cries are ugly, high-pitched wailings hurt his own ears to listen. So beautiful, he mutters incognizantly, I don’t deserve beautiful things like you.
Wordlessly, Minho pushes harder into him, and merges them into one.
***
Hyunjin can never love Minho as beautifully as Minho loves him. He doesn’t want to die. And yet he still feels like killing himself.
***
The only happiness Hyunjin has ever brought for Minho is their cat — a breed cat, with cinnamon-colored fur and ticked pattern spotted for individual hair.
He first thought of adopting a cat, after seeing how often Minho checks on his phone for pictures of the cats at home. We can get a cat here, he offered. But Minho refuted, your allergy is bad enough already; the cat hair only adds more to your health burden.
Hyunjin knows how much Minho loves cats. That was originally a reason he used to convince himself that Minho would never be in a relationship with him; he thought his hyung’s preference would go to someone without pet allergy.
He can’t ever be happy again. But he wants to make his hyung happy.
It was an accident, when he walks around the adoption center holding in the need to sneeze and clear his nose, a fierce cat escapes from one of those enclose rooms and runs towards his direction. People are screaming; Hyunjin doesn’t move, and lets the poor baby hide behind him.
The cat doesn’t stop hissing and growling, but not at him, interestingly. When he reaches over his hand and offers to pick it up, the cat lets him, sniffing his jacket, pushing its little head onto his underweight body, as comfortably as a boat finding it anchor.
“Oh my god!” One of the volunteer exclaims in joy, “I’ve never seen him ever liking any human being!”
Hyunjin has to take the cat in. It chooses him.
The center waives the adoption fee for the cat — a big, muscular Abyssinian boy — as no one else has been able to even get close to it without getting hissed or attacked. They only charge for the microchip and physical examination, and, in a paper box, Hyunjin now gets his very first cat.
He’s glad the process has gone smoothly, as his allergy already starts to show before he signs off the paperworks. He finds a bench on the roadside to put down the box, and lowers his face mask, grasping for fresh air.
Meow, the cat says.
“I’m not giving up on you. Don’t worry, I just can’t breathe.” He says.
Meow, the cat says, punching the side of the box.
“Do you not like being in there?” He asks.
Meow, the cat says again, sounding a little sweeter this time.
Hyunjin sighs, and opens up the box. The walk home takes no longer than 15 minutes, and he can manage it with a chonky cat in his arms.
Hours later, when Minho gets back, his hyung’s absolutely shocked by the existence of a cat and the absence of any cat-related equipments. He complains about Hyunjin not caring about his own wellbeing, and Hyunjin knows that he loves the cat already.
Because the cat chooses them.
“What do you want to name him, hyung?” Hyunjin asks, “He was a mean kitty at the adoption center, so everyone called him ‘buddy’ there.”
“That’s lame.” Minho says, while dumping new litter into the done-shaped litter box, “I’m gonna call him ‘mandu’. His big ears and small head reminds me of that.”
Hyunjin agrees.
***
Their in-person tour at the house goes well.
It’s a lovely construction that blends in the classical color scheme of coastal vibes and a hint of modernism. It reminds Hyunjin of Minho’s home. His hyung always complains about the discomfort of those wooden furnitures, but he knows that Minho finds comfort in it.
It’s close to the city center. It’s secluded from the main traffic lanes. It overlooks the Willamette river. It encloses a massive flower garden.
Hyunjin knows it’s Minho’s dream house.
His boyfriend can’t stop talking about it on their way back. “There are so many windows! South-facing windows, Hyunjin-ah!” He says, “It’s gonna be so nice and bright during the day. Mandu would be so happy to sunbath there, too.”
He nods, putting up a smile.
Minho cooks them ramen for lunch today, poaching two eggs under the noodles. He watches his boyfriend get the bowl out, and partition Hyunjin’s portion there, handing to him with a pair of metal chopsticks.
“What do you feel about the house?” Minho asks, “You barely said anything during the tour.”
“It’s beautiful.” Hyunjin answers. “I agree with you.”
“Do you feel like buying it with me, then?”
“Hyung.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Hyunjin put down the chopsticks.
“Why are you settling down with me, hyung? When I don’t even have a future?”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth no matter I say it or not.”
Minho pushes the pot of ramen away.
“Don’t do this to me, Hyunjinnie…” His voice’s quivering. “Please don’t.”
Hyunjin swallows. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought things are getting better for us.”
“…”
“I thought we could fight for a future together.”
“…”
“Why are you leaving me?”
“Hyung.” He says. “I was long dead before you took me here.”
***
Hyunjin’s always breaking Minho. He doesn’t want to die. And yet he still feels like killing himself.
***
He wakes up to the sound of splattering water in the bathroom. The other side of the bed is left empty. And he almost jumps in panic until he hears Minho’s repressed cries.
Hyunjin wants to cut himself again.
Retrieving his phone from the bedside table, he opens up the chat, and quickly scrolls down to the bottom.
He finds Chan’s name and profile picture, clicks into it, and typed, “I can’t.”
Hyunjin gets up quietly, and goes to sit on the sofa in living room. Mandu’s there, eyes open big and wide, confused by his humans’ unusual behavior.
Chan’s call arrives at the same time he finds his blade.
“Hyunjinnie.” His leader says, “Why’re you up at this hour?”
“I know you guys are planning for a comeback soon.” Hyunjin says, “I’m giving Lee Know-hyung back to you. Let him join the comeback with you, please. He needs it.”
“What about you, then?”
“You don’t need me.”
“What are you talking about? Stray Kids has eight member and will always have eight —”
“I can’t dance any more.” Hyunjin says, digging the sharp edge into his thigh. “I’m in pain all the time and I can’t stand on a stage without having a meltdown.”
“That’s not what I —”
“Stray Kids is a boy group, right hyung?” He asks brightly, “But I’m barely a boy.”
Chan’s broken voices resonates with Minho’s. Hyunjin pushes the blade in harder.
“Hyunjinnie…” His leader takes a deep breathe, “Is Minho with you? Can I talk to him?”
“I told him already.” Hyunjin answers, “He wants to buy a house with me. And I told him not to waste time on someone without a future.”
“Hyunjin —”
“The past ten years were the happiest time of my life, hyung. Thank you for trusting me and taking me into your group.”
“Hyunjin, don’t —”
“I love you, hyung. I love our group. I have no regret now.”
Hyunjin ends the call before those pathetic sobs leave him in trembles.
He cuts. He cuts and cuts and cuts until Minho’s phone starts ringing, until Minho runs to him — grabs his blade and throws it out of the window.
“How can you say that?” Minho asks, voice raw and broken. “How can you assume I can live on without you?”
Hyunjin’s fingers dig into the cuts, harder and harder.
“Go back home, Lee Minho.” He says, “Be a dancer. A singer. A performer standing on your own stage… Sorry I won’t be there with you.”
He lets Minho pull his hands away. He lets Minho tender his wounds, even though they are too deep to be treated with a in-house first-aid kit. He lets his boyfriend break down completely in front of him, begging again and again for him to stay alive.
He lets Minho hold onto his face, kissing him on the corner of his lips.
“I thought love was your favorite thing.” Minho narrates, “Why can’t love save you?”
Hyunjin wants to know why, too.
***
He picks an early summer day, when he makes up his mind at last.
Taking the streetcar, Hyunjin keeps his eyes open as much as physically possible, taking in the views that he’s seen many times. He gets off at the hospital stop, and walks inside the downhill station for the aerial tram. There’s no farmers market today, leaving him with all the students and hospital staff in the tram together.
They looks lively and prosperous. Hyunjin loves to see that.
Following the sign for visitors, Hyunjin finds his way to the outdoor patio. The weather’s clear; the glistening sight of Mount Hood and St. Helens wordlessly stare back at him. It’s calming. It’s comforting. It’s enough to keep him going.
The end of the road’s half blocked. As a former idol undergone starvation diets often, Hyunjin finds it rather easy to pass the half open gate with no problem. It takes him up higher through an exposed staircase, until he reaches the top of the hospital building.
Make sure the building is tall enough, the voices say.
This should do, Hyunjin respond, it’s the combined height of a building and a hill.
He balances his body at the very edge of the rooftop, holding himself up as if dancing. The wind’s nice. The view’s stunning. The altitude’s making his blood boil.
He takes a breathe in.
What will happen next?
It’s definitely gonna be hard for Minho. And Chan, too. And the rest of their group. They’ll grieve for a long, long time. And then they’ll get over it. And then they’ll sing again, dance again, perform again. They’ll continue their dreams and shine brightly on stage. They’ll thrive. It’s just that Hyunjin won’t have a chance to see it happening.
One day, they’ll be so used to being a group of seven that the temporary existence of Hwang Hyunjin become an unspeakable taboo.
They’ll forget about him. They’ll live. They’ll be happy.
He likes to see them happy.
He lets the breathe out.
***
Hyunjin has lived with Minho for more than a year now.
He doesn’t want to die.
And yet.