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When she was young, she used to think grief was reserved for death. And in the period of mourning, joy would not exist. Sorrow would engulf her whole and she would waste away alone in eternal darkness and nothing else would matter. However, time had revealed to her that nothing was ever as simple.
She was grieving for her living husband. Living, but dying. Jumin was behind the hospital door that she was teetering in front of. It would lead her to a private patient room surrounded by beige walls and ivory curtains, and she would see Jumin putting on his best smile even as the lung cancer drained his strength. More often now, his best was a single tight smile that took him a lot of effort to manage.
She was always gripped by fear when she came here, wondering how much Jumin's health had deteriorated in the brief absence Jihyun switched with her to stay over. They had tried everything they could to treat him, but there was never any good news.
Time was not on their side.
Clutching her overnight bag, she straightened her posture and pushed the door open—and found that Jumin had been waiting for her. He was propped up on the bed and outstretched his hand when she crossed the threshold, reaching for her as he always did. In the warm hospital glow, she caught the weak smile on his pallid face and picked up her pace to clasp his free hand, one without an IV line attached. His slender fingers were always stiff and cold now, but a tiny relief fluttered in her chest when they finally touched.
She set her bag down beside the couch and kissed his cheek, careful not to knock the nasal cannula strung beneath his nose askew. "Jihyun isn't here? I thought he was with you when I called."
Jumin lifted his brows, but the humour in his sharp grey eyes betrayed his serious expression. "I see you care more about another man when I am right here."
"Only because you're here and he's not," she said lovingly. Though there were deep crevices around his eyes and his sunken cheeks had left a sharp edge to his jaw and cheekbones, he was still handsome to her, his thinning black hair falling just past his ears.
"As it should be," Jumin declared. There was a permanent rasp in his voice that appeared as his illness worsened. "He would have passed out from starvation if I hadn't sent him away. I never expected him to be so adamant about staying by my side. I was always the one who worried about him, not the other way around."
"He is stubborn," she reminded. She slid her fingers down the inside of his wrist to feel his pulse. It confirmed what she sometimes feared her sight was fooling her—that he was already gone. "He's so much like you in that regard."
"Perhaps I should have let him stay. Having a roommate would not be so bad. We could even recreate the sleepovers we had as children." There was a certain melancholy in Jumin's eyes, one that often appeared when he talked about his friendship with Jihyun. "I don't know why we ever stopped. We used to stay over at each other's houses all the time."
"You grew up," she said, and squeezed his hand. It felt more brittle than she remembered. "But that change isn't permanent. You've been recreating it these days. Look at how he sleeps here when I can't. Thanks to me, of course," she added. "I graciously spared my precious time with you for him. You're welcome."
Jumin smiled and stared at her with deep, tender attention as if he wished to preserve and immortalise this exact moment before he left. She was familiar with that look. She watched him the same way when he was not looking. She knew all memories faded eventually, but perhaps she could keep some for herself if she tried hard enough. "What a noble sacrifice," he said. "I shall make sure he shows gratitude for your kindness."
She smiled back, trying to keep exhaustion from showing. "It's nothing. I just want to make you happy."
But nothing slipped past Jumin. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles and frowned. "Did you not sleep well?" he asked, unable to keep distraught from his voice. He studied her with the same intensity that never dimmed despite the illness. All these years, those eyes like dark storms that had been nothing but loving to her, were still loving her now. How safe and grounded she always felt looking into them.
"You think I look rubbish," she joked. It twisted her heart that Jumin still put her well-being before his.
"I think you look like someone who didn't have a good night's sleep," he stated, and then it dawned on him. "You had been crying."
She nodded. It was not a question and she would not lie. After the first diagnosis, she had anticipated an intense, unstoppable streak of wallowing, but her reality was quite different. In the first few days when she was caught up in the whirlwind of trips to the emergency room and doctor appointments and looking after mundane matters, her emotions had taken a back seat. Only after Jihyun swept in to help that she could find the space to cry.
Even the tears came on intermittently. She was fine on some days, perfectly capable of executing her daily routine with a strength that stunned her. But in the moments she least expected, she would break down and find herself bargaining for more months, weeks, days with Jumin, begging on her knees while knowing there was no one out there who could help, that there was no magical cure. She had put Jumin's spell book away and learned to tuck herself into a bed that was too empty for one.
Last night, she noticed that their housekeeper Sunja had placed one of Jumin's ties at a ten-degree angle in the drawer. She straightened it because surely it would irritate him, and then it hit her that there was no point, he would never come home and open this drawer again, she would never get another chance to tie his tie before work and soon she would have to refer to this house as hers instead of theirs. He would go. He would go first. She slid down the glass cupboard and crumpled into herself, unable to stop the chest-heaving sobs breaking out of her.
In the morning, Sunja found her asleep on the cold granite floor clutching the blue-striped tie. It was Jumin's favourite tie from her for his first birthday that they celebrated together. It matched his eyes, she had told him. He loved to recount this story to anyone who would listen.
Sunja then guided her to the dining room while she followed in a dazed state. She brewed her a cup of tea and cooked her a light meal, which promptly brought forth another wave of tears. It was not Sunja's job to cook for her, she knew. Altruistic kindness from people who did not want anything from her was rare, yet here it was, served to her when she had not done anything to deserve it.
But she was not in the mood to tell Jumin the long tale of her breakdown, so she sat on the couch beside his bed and wiggled her eyebrows. "My sleeping problem could be solved if someone wants to sleep with me right now. I might even cry from ecstasy instead."
Jumin's stare lingered on her. She was aware he could see through her, but he only let out a defeated sigh. "Believe me, I want to," he played along. "I would bed you properly if I could, but my doctor has barred me from doing rigorous activities."
"Well, I can only imagine the horror if your heart stopped mid-act," she said. "Like, what would your tombstone say? 'He came so hard he literally saw heaven'?"
Jumin laughed. She took in his quirked brows, the impish glint in his eyes, and the rasp in his laughter and committed them to memory. "He might not find heaven to his liking and decide to come back down," he said.
"The press would have a field day during your burial. Your reputation would be ruined. Legacy, over."
"It's fortunate—"
Jumin doubled over with violent coughs that rattled his frail frame before he could finish his sentence. She jumped on her feet and rubbed his back repeatedly, feeling powerless to do anything else. His shoulder blades were sharp through the thin hospital gown, and his arms and calves had barely any muscle left, skin clinging to limbs desperately. She thought she had more time. His change had seemed slow and gradual, but now she saw how much the illness had taken away from him.
Jumin brought his hand away from his mouth, revealing an alarming amount of blood. He tensed and she willed herself to swallow her panic. Quickly, she snatched a handful of tissues from the nightstand and wiped his trembling hand. Though Jumin was silent, she could feel his helplessness rolling off him as he watched her clean his blood-stained mouth. It wasn't the first time he coughed up blood, but it had never been this much.
Jumin attempted a weak smile. "It's fortunate I won't be here to see my downfall."
"No, not fortunate." She closed her eyes and steadied her breath. "Because your downfall would be mine."
"My love." His fingers encircled her wrist, but his hold was so fragile. "I'm sorry to have brought so much pain upon you. I wish I could ease it somehow."
She tossed the tissues aside and fixed her gaze on him. "And what of yours?" she demanded. "You just coughed blood, Jumin."
"My suffering won't last long, but yours will. It is my most desperate hope that it won't last forever." He shook his head when she started to refute. "You're shouldering this unfair burden of taking care of me while I am simply lying here, useless to be of any help. I feel myself tearing apart from the inside knowing that I am the cause of your tears."
"Let me cry for you. It's the evidence of my love, nothing unfair or burdensome in that."
"Do you remember my vow at our wedding? I promised to be there with you every step of the way, to never leave you when you are struggling." His face twisted in agony that sent a sharp pang into her heart. "But it appears that I have become your problem."
"I'd rather you be my problem than cease to be my anything," she said fiercely. "But as it happens, you're not. I worry because I care. I stay here because sleeping on this couch and waking up with a stiff back is better than losing sleep alone in our bedroom. That's our home, Jumin. You should be there with me to make it feel like one, and if you can't, then I'll go wherever you are. Don't be sorry that I love you. I chose you back then and I still choose you now. I always will."
The look Jumin gave her was haunted and unseeing. She had the sensation that he was peering into the years that stretched out behind them. "I never thought there would be a day where I'm completely reliant on you without the ability to give you anything in return. I never thought it would be so soon."
"You can do nothing and I will still love you." She sat on the bed and tucked a thin strand of hair behind his ear. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same for me."
"I can't." Jumin groaned in despair. "God, I can't. Even as my life is coming to a close, you still show me how wonderful you are." He buried his face into the dip between her neck and collarbones and held her tightly, as tight as his weakening body could muster. She put her arms carefully around him and laid her chin on the side of his head. This was her love, her love that she was losing. He no longer smelled like the expensive cedar cologne he sprayed on every morning before work. This Jumin was covered with a stinging antiseptic scent and it was terrifying. He was changing at a rate that she could not keep up. "How can I ever leave you?" he whispered, his voice caught.
Jumin sounded so broken it almost broke her. "I don't want you to leave either," she murmured. "I wish I could follow you instead of being here alone."
Jumin withdrew and held her at arm's length. "Don't you dare entertain that thought. You have a life here." His face grew stricken when she was silent. "You will not throw it away for me. I won't ever forgive you if you do."
She made a choking sound. "My life has no meaning without you, Jumin." She knew she was speaking out of hysterical delusion, that her real life was more than a single love, but he was the love she lived with, that lived in her. She knew the pattern of his breathing like her own, knew what cunning retorts would come out of him before he could speak them. How would she live without him? What would there be to live for once the person who put sense into her life had gone? "You've changed my life with your presence alone," she said. "I've always looked to you for peace and comfort. My highest happiness is amplified because you're here to share my joy, and my deepest sadness is pacified because you sit with me through it all. I hear your voice every day. I see your face every day. How do you expect me to lose all that? I don't want to learn to be alone, not yet."
Jumin held her face in the palm of his hand. "You won't be alone. Jihyun is still here. He will accompany you—"
"But he's not you!" she shouted. "Every day I'm grateful that he's here and I know how much he means to you, but he is not you. I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you. He's my friend, but you're my husband. You're irreplaceable, you hear me?"
To her surprise, there were tears in Jumin's eyes. "But you will survive. I know you. You have a tenacious soul that persists in the face of adversity, and you will have a good friend to lean on. I can think of no one better suited for emotional support than Jihyun. You will not be alone. That fact itself placates my heart more than anything."
She rested her forehead against his. His skin was so cold. "You always say you'll give me anything I ask from you. I have one now: stay a little longer. Your birthday is only a few months away. Stay until then." Her voice cracked. "Please."
Jumin looked at her with great sadness. "That is the one thing I cannot control."
At that, her emotions broke through. She wept and wept and wept and it was Jumin's turn to reach for the tissue and dabbed it across her face. She had not wanted to cry in front of him for the guilt it would induce in him. It felt cruel to seek comfort from him when he was in the most pain, but it was Jumin she thought of telling whenever she was hurt. It was Jumin she went to for everything good and bad. Years of habit could not be unravelled in an instance, but beyond that was the familiarity and trust that she could find in nobody else. He knew her so well and so intuitively that she knew that when he left, he would carve out something crucial of herself and take her with him.
Jumin laid her head on his chest and pulled her into the bed with him. In the haze of her crying, she was aware that she should not put her entire weight on him, that he already had enough difficulty breathing as he was, and she cried harder. She tightened her arm around his waist, relishing in the realness of him, dreading the day she could no longer feel the warmth of his embrace. But when she felt his tears falling on the top of her head, she knew that whatever illness that would separate them would not truly sever their bond. Together they mourned for the loss of their planned future, for the life Jumin would never have, for the loneliness that would come for her in the days without him.
"Do you know what my worst fear is?" Jumin asked hoarsely.
She lifted her head and wiped the tears from his face. She imagined her eyes were as red as his. "That I'm only pretending to be sad when I actually can't wait to inherit your wealth after you go?"
A small smile played on his lips. "Don't instil more fears in me." Jumin poked her nose. If he noticed that she had been avoiding the word "die", he didn't let on. "I fear losing my possessions and everything I deem important. I know nothing is absolute in this world, but I harbour an irrational hope that I could protect them with the power I have accumulated." He gazed at her with adoration so deep that her heart could have cracked in half. "And you are on top of that list."
She caressed his face, and he leaned into her touch. "You're not losing me now."
"I know, and I'm grateful for it. I can see with clarity that my worst fear will not come true for you have never left me." Jumin took her hand and splayed it against his heart. She could barely feel it beating beneath her palm, but it was there. It had not stopped beating. That was enough. "You stand by me through my endless treatments. You don't recoil from me after witnessing me in my worst state. I know you love me. You don't have to say it to make it true. But..." He sounded constricted as he tried to get the words out. "I'm sorry you are going to lose me."
"You're still thinking about me. You still worry about how I will fare without you." She bit back fresh tears that threatened to fall, hearing Jumin's concern underneath his words. She could not yet bring herself to imagine a life without him, preferring to hold on to the slightest hope that he might get better no matter how impossible, but it hurt her more to see him fearing for her. "I can't promise I'd cope well, but I'm never really going to lose you," she said. "I keep you close in my heart. You are my heart. You will always be alive in me."
A sad chuckle escaped from Jumin. "I laugh the most with you, did you know that?"
She blinked. "I know I'm moderately funny, but I don't see the connection with what I just said."
"You make me happy. You have made me so happy this whole time, love," said Jumin softly. "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me."
The memories from the past pierced through her like an arrow. She remembered the first time she came to Jumin's penthouse and he was quiet for a beat too long before saying, Sorry, I just stared into your eyes. Even then he had seen the truth she held for him. She remembered the day she was seasick on Jumin's private yacht so he sat with her in the cabin for the rest of the journey, holding her while she curled in his arms instead of enjoying the breeze. She remembered the park under the rain where they were salvaging their ruined picnic and a kid came over and told her she was very pretty and Jumin had flashed him a proud smile and praised him for being an excellent judge of beauty while suggesting him to find his own match in the same breath. Jumin had been very pleased for the rest of the day. He was the only person she wanted and would ever want. If she could not have him forever, then she would have no one at all.
"You deserve it, my darling. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done." She pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. They might be chapped, but they were more familiar to her than her own.
Jumin smiled against her mouth. His eyelids were fluttering close, but his fingers were tracing over her brows, her cheekbones, her ears as if he was trying to remember her. He mumbled a quiet I love you and she said it back, silently begging this would not be the last time they proclaimed it to each other. She was beginning to learn how resilient a heart was. How it could break and break yet never really shatter. How hers had been made invincible by the love she had for him and the love he returned tenfold.
Before she looked up, she already knew that Jumin had fallen asleep. His breathing was slowing to a steady but harsh, heavy rhythm. It frightened her. What should be effortless was painful to him, yet he never complained. She untangled herself from his arms, covered him with his blanket, walked towards the door, and paused. She turned around and gave him one last glance, in case it was the last time she could see him. It was a habit she had adopted since Jumin was admitted to the hospital.
Jumin's quiet presence used to have a strong, charismatic quality that pulled everyone's attention to him. Now her husband was a ghost of someone he once was, a copy made by a printer running out of ink. The essence of what made him Jumin had not disappeared, but his defining marks had blurred. His calming confidence and childlike excitement felt out of reach. She could see them in her periphery, but she could not quite reconcile those traits and shape Jumin into the person he had been, back when the fear of losing him was merely conceptual.
She also knew she would see Jihyun sitting outside the room because that was what he did. What they all did. They gave each other time with one another because there was never enough time.
Jihyun turned to her as she slid into the seat next to him and offered her a smile, but she did not miss the dark crescents under his dulled green eyes. Even his teal hair seemed unattended.
"Jumin's taking a nap," she said.
Jihyun nodded and laced his fingers together on his lap. "He sleeps a lot now."
"That's good, right?" she said. "He should get as much rest as he can."
Jihyun stayed quiet and looked down at his hands.
She averted her gaze. There was not much time left. She was not so deep in denial as not to see it. "I know the signs of someone going away. I know."
They were hurtling down the dark unknown faster than they were ready for. No matter how hard they resisted, they could not win. There were times when Jumin would seem better and a tiny hope flared between her and Jihyun, that perhaps they might not lose him after all. A chance of recovery was all they needed, but it never lasted long. By next week he would be worse than they ever imagined, and they would sit in fear and silence after discussing possible solutions with the doctors and among themselves and hitting another dead end. What else was there to do except to hope that he would not go so soon?
"I admire your strength and faith in his health," Jihyun finally said. "I feel as if we have switched roles. I used to do whatever I could to save the people I care about, but now that we have tried everything and will still lose him..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I feel lost. I'd like to be more like you if I could."
She put her arms around herself. She was not sure if it was the cold hospital air or how much she needed to feel less alone in her own acute helplessness. "It's cowardice. I can't bear to accept the reality," she said. "If I stay hopeful, I don't have to move on to the next phase. I don't have to picture a life without him. I feel like vomiting every time I receive an update from the doctors. We've never got any good news since the first diagnosis."
Jihyun nodded slowly with the lethargy that always seemed to hang above him. What enthusiasm he used to have had faded. With a renewed cold dread she realised that in denying herself the acceptance of losing Jumin, she had failed to see that she was losing her friend as well.
"I regret not being more present for him," Jihyun said. "I travelled the world to search for my reasons to live, but it was right here all along. I lost count of the times Jumin had asked me to catch up with him over wine and I foolishly postponed them. I thought there would be a next time. He's the steady fixture in my ever-changing life, so I thought…" He shook his head. "I wasted so much time. What was it all for?"
"You live for a lot of things," she said, making her voice as gentle as she could. "Your friendship is only one part of it. Jumin is glad that you found yourself through those travels. You know him. He doesn't think physically being there for him is the most important thing. You care about him even when you're not here, and now you've been trying to stay by his side every day. He notices that. There is nothing but gratitude and admiration whenever he speaks of you."
"Jumin is such a good person." Jihyun looked over at her, ocean-green eyes glazed with tears. "I cannot believe someone like him exists, and I'm even more amazed he chose me to be his best friend all those years ago."
"He's always had faith in you a great deal." She smiled. "That's one of the best things about him. He believes in the good of the people he loves."
"He believes in me when I cannot believe in myself. When I forget how to," he said in wonderment. "He has always done it for me and I didn't even know it."
When she thought about Jumin and Jihyun, she saw two men whose lives were so deeply entangled since they were boys that to be separated meant losing half a story that defined them as who they were. There was no part of their history that did not include one another in some way. When Jumin recounted their childhood stories and brought Jihyun up in conversations, he always spoke with a fondness that she had never heard for anyone else except her. Jihyun, she noticed, spoke with the same gentleness.
They were fortunate in a way that most people were not. She had seen one's whole face light up when the other visited, had noticed how Jumin sometimes would have something on his mind and relaxed after he talked to Jihyun. They never had enough time together. She hurt for them, for the time they had lost and could never get back, but was also relieved that Jumin was not as alone as he might think. He had someone who worried about him as much as he would if it was the other way around.
"Jumin made a request to me," Jihyun began.
"Awfully demanding even when sick, isn't he?" she interrupted with a laugh, but it sounded miserable coming out of her mouth.
"It's for you," he said. "He made me promise to be there for you after—after he's gone. I think he's trying to help by creating worst-case scenarios and backup plans. He's afraid you won't handle the loss well." He stared at the wall. "And that I would run off the cliff from madness if I don't do anything of help."
She locked the love in Jumin's plea away in her chest, a precious memory to recall when she missed him, and nudged Jihyun playfully. "'Run off the cliff'? Sometimes I can't tell whether you are repeating his dramatics or if it comes out right out of your head."
A flicker of amusement passed across his face. For one second, the past livelier Jihyun resurfaced. "It might have been both."
"I shouldn't have expected any less." She chuckled and sighed. "It sounds like he was tying up loose ends before he goes. I wish he wouldn't. He's in enough pain as it is. When was the last time he could walk more than a few steps without assistance? He can't visit his vineyard anymore. He can't hold the stitching needle without his fingers trembling. He hasn't met Elizabeth the Third in a while. She misses him." Her voice shook. "I'd bear all his suffering for him if I could."
Jihyun's arms came around her, and she let herself sink into them. "I'm sorry. Your misery must be greater than mine. Your life was upended when his was. It can't have been easy to get used to these extreme changes. You have built a life together, but now you lost everything that's been your normal for years."
"I wish I could go back to the person I was," she admitted, tears spilling over. "I miss loving him without the threat of death looming over us, when I could sleep and not think about how today might be the last time I see him. We were so happy—we are still happy, but this happiness is tainted with anxiety. We feel it even if we pretend not to notice."
"You can be sad for yourself," Jihyun said. "You lost that innocence, that peaceful ignorance of simply living when the thought of either of you dying is far-fetched. It didn't seem like it could catch up to Jumin when he's probably the most health-conscious person on earth. No one could have expected this."
Time did not heal all wounds. Every second of it pricked at her skin, a reminder that she could not save the person she loved the most. No matter how hard she steeled herself against the loss yet to come, nothing could prepare her for it. Last night she had a dream where she and Jumin sat side by side at a secluded beach on a quiet morning and they looked at each other's wrinkled faces and smiled, amazed that time had never worn out their love as their bodies had been. But in this reality, her hair would turn grey while Jumin's would always be black.
"I will miss him so much," she whispered, and pulled back to wipe her tears. She used to wonder how people could cry and make a scene in hospitals without shame. She understood now. Shame did not matter in the face of loss. She would gladly make a fool out of herself if it meant she could save Jumin.
"So will I," said Jihyun quietly.
She thought of her nightly strolls with Jumin along their city that lit up in the dark, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, steady bright lights guiding them home. Of the wine they spilt on their white carpet because Elizabeth the Third had jumped on them and Jumin chuckled because she must be jealous of his undivided attention for his wife. Of Jumin's pure, undistilled laughter that carried her through her darkest days. She would have to live with these memories alone.
She did not want the torturous waiting to end, no matter how exhausting it was. The pain was a reminder that she loved him, that he was real and still here. She was not a child anymore. She had grown into a capable adult, a loving and grieving woman, a wife soon to be without a husband.
This was grief, she thought. This. They couldn't go back to how they used to be and Jumin wouldn't get to live out the rest of his life. This was it. The rest of his life was so short.
She held fast to Jihyun's hand and listened to the clock ticking.