Changmin numbly responds to as many of the doctor’s questions and statements as he can (are there any relatives we can contact, do you know his insurance policy/phone number/personal information, does he have a will made?), but he has to admit that he barely knows Yunho. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I’m just a— friend.” He's not sure if he's even that.

 

Once the doctors have done whatever they can for Yunho, they let Changmin inside to see him. He takes a seat beside Yunho’s bed. The fluorescent hospital lights bore down on him like spotlights, and he feels like this is his last chance to make a confession of his own.

 

“I hated you,” he blurts out, unnerved by the stillness and stark white walls and Yunho lying there, unmoving. “I hated you before I even met you, because Jaejoong still loved you. I wanted you out of the picture, I would’ve been glad if you had disappeared and never came back.” His voice shakes and his vision blurs slightly, but he continues with an effort. “But you— when you did come back, and you thought Jaejoong liked me better, you tried to help me. You told me the truth. You tried to fix things, you wanted what was best for him, even though you were dying and you had such a short time left to be happy.”

 

Changmin wipes away the few tears that managed to escape and sighs.

 

“I never got the chance to know you,” he says, and feels oddly calm after relieving the weight on his conscience.  “I’m sorry for that.” Gone is the urge to cry and bemoan the cruelty of life. He thinks Yunho would prefer that.

 

“I forgive you, by the way.” He swallows hard as he gets up to go, and pauses. “I hope you can forgive me too.”

 

The silence that follows is punctuated only by the steady beat of the heart monitor.

*

By the time Jaejoong gets there, it’s too late.

 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says gently. “It’s highly unlikely that he’ll regain consciousness at this point.”

 

“No,” Jaejoong whispers, and he feels lightheaded. “No, I just saw him, less than an hour ago, he looked fine, he told me he was okay!”

 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor repeats. “We told him the cancer was spreading and that his condition was getting worse. We warned him not to overexcite himself. He understood he didn’t have much longer to live.” He pauses discreetly. “I’ll give you two a moment together, if you wish to say goodbye.”

 

Jaejoong goes inside, dazed, and has to clutch the rails of the hospital bed to steady himself. He fumbles for the chair and sits heavily, gazing at Yunho’s face.

 

“You lied to me.” There’s a tight feeling in his chest. “You told me— you told me you were okay!”

 

He begins to cry in earnest, and it’s almost a relief to feel something other than shock. Through his haze of tears all he can see is Yunho smiling at him, all he can hear is Yunho saying, “It’s going to be all right.”

 

A part of Jaejoong is still in denial about Yunho dying. It’s impossible, everything’s so unreal, his life wasn’t meant to have dying lovers and tangled romances and endless confusion. Yunho looks like he’s sleeping for God’s sake, and then Jaejoong realizes that he hasn’t seen Yunho ever look this calm before. Not since he’s been there, not when he was awake or asleep, not when he was relaxed or even happy. It is now, on the brink of death, that all the lines and worried wrinkles on his face have smoothed out on his face.

 

He looks peaceful.

 

The pain in Jaejoong’s chest dulls, and he can’t bring himself to cry anymore.

 

“You know, I was always afraid you’d do something like this,” Jaejoong tells Yunho. His voice has become matter-of-fact and quiet. “I didn’t want you to get involved with my problem. I thought they’d make you feel worse, and I didn’t want you to do that to yourself.”

 

More tears form at the corners of his eyes, but this time they’re there because he understands. He understands how Yunho must have felt, and that the guilt would have torn him apart faster than the cancer.

 

“But I know you thought it was the only thing you could do, huh?”

 

Jaejoong’s life is in pieces, but because of Yunho he’ll have the chance to rebuild it. He won't ever forget Yunho, but he'll become a memory. He won't prevent Jaejoong from living, wouldn't even want to in the first place.

 

“I’ll miss you.”

 

Time of death: 11:18 AM.

*

Jaejoong is about to leave the hospital when the doctor stops him.

 

“Excuse me, but do you happen to know who the deceased’s other visitor was? Tall, younger man, black hair?”

 

Changmin, he thinks, and is surprised by the way his heart jumps. “Yes, I think I do, is there a problem?”

 

“We think he left his phone here. He was with Yunho when he collapsed, and probably dropped it accidentally,” the doctor explains, holding up a slim black phone. Jaejoong recognizes it as Changmin’s. “We found it under the bed when we were clearing the room, and he’s already left the building.”

 

“Yes, it’s his,” Jaejoong says, and takes it. “I can return it to him.”

 

The phone sits in his palm, cool and heavy, and Jaejoong wonders if it’s a sign. He flips it open, scrolls through Changmin’s contact list, and dials the one labeled Junsu - cell.

 

Changmin is the one who picks up.

 

“Hello? Who is this?” Changmin sounds surprised; he obviously hadn’t noticed his phone was missing.

 

“It’s Jaejoong,” he says carefully, and hurriedly continues before Changmin can say anything. “You left your phone in— in Yunho’s room. The doctor gave it to me.”

 

“Thank you,” Changmin replies, still somewhat surprised. There’s a pause before he asks, hesitantly, “How’s Yunho?”

 

“He’s dead.” Jaejoong can’t think of any other way to phrase it, and saying it so bluntly, just the truth and nothing else, helps force the fact into his own head.

 

“I’m sorry,” Changmin says, and there’s a genuine touch of pity in his voice that makes Jaejoong wonder exactly how much Yunho said to Changmin, how much time they spent together.

 

“There’s going to be a small memorial for him,” Jaejoong tells him. “I just— if you wanted— if you went— I was wondering if you wanted to attend it. Um. I could give you back your phone, too.” His face flushes as he listens to himself speak, but Changmin doesn’t say anything until he finishes.

 

“I’d like to go.” Changmin’s voice is solemn, and Jaejoong realizes he’s been holding his breath ever since he stopped talking.

 

“He’d appreciate it,” Jaejoong says, gratefully. It’s only half a lie; Yunho would appreciate Changmin coming to his funeral. Never mind the fact that he'd appreciate it as well. “I’ll call you.”

*

The cemetery is hot and the sun's burning down on Jaejoong's black suit, but he can’t muster up the strength to adjust it.

 

Yunho never specified where he wanted to be buried, only that he wanted somewhere not too expensive and not too crowded. There’s no tombstone for his grave, but a small engraved plaque marks where he lies.

 

Changmin sees Jaejoong from a distance, a lone figure dressed in black, head bowed in respect. He quietly goes to stand next to Jaejoong, whose only reaction is to stiffen slightly, but he doesn’t look alarmed.

 

This is the first time Changmin's had the chance to try and talk to Jaejoong face to face, and he finds himself tongue tied.

 

Changmin directs his gaze to the grave marker instead. “He seemed like a nice person,” he says wistfully, and for some reason Jaejoong smiles.

 

“He was.”

 

There’s an awkward silence. The months they’ve been apart, one betrayed and one a mess, stand between them like some insurmountable barrier, and Changmin fears there’s no hope of overcoming it. Really, it would be so easy to walk away. They could part on friendly terms, see each other occasionally, forget what happened. He was just starting to let it go, he could get over it. It’s possible.

 

He’s getting a bit desperate, willing to say anything, ask Jaejoong what he wants, ask what they’re supposed to do, when Jaejoong speaks, almost absentmindedly. “You never told me you sang.”

 

It’s so completely out of the blue that it makes Changmin’s train of thought stop completely for a second, but at least it’s something to talk about.

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says slowly, and it’s true. The reverse is true too; there’s a lot he doesn’t know about Jaejoong, and it makes him wonder whether he should keep going. What if Jaejoong doesn’t want anything to do with him? What if, what if, he could think of a thousand more reasons why he should stop and turn away right now, but instead he thinks of Junsu.

 

That was the happiest I’d ever seen you. Don’t just give up.

 

Junsu was half right when he said that.

 

There are times when doing nothing is okay, when betrayed or hurt too badly. But there are times when doing something, risking looking a little foolish, is the right thing to do.

 

If he still loves Jaejoong, it doesn’t matter what happened. Well, okay, it does matter, but that’s how life works. It's got the good and the bad. It’s full of opportunities, possibilities, and always the chance to fall in love. People fall in love, and sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. Not everyone finds their perfect match on the first try, and life lets them keep looking, and keep falling in love until they do.

 

I fell in love with you.

 

He’s not sure he wants to keep looking.

 

“But,” he says, “I’m willing to stick around, if you want to find out.” Changmin could be embarrassed about stating it so flatly and being so obvious about his feelings, but instead he squints at the skies.

 

There, he says silently to Yunho, and imagines Yunho shaking his head, all the pain and fatigue and guilt disappearing from his face. Finally, he would say.

 

Jaejoong doesn’t respond for a long, long time, and Changmin finally risks turning to look at him. That is, of course, the moment that Jaejoong chooses to look up, and as their eyes meet he feels his cheeks heating up.

 

“Think he was trying to tell us something?” Jaejoong gestures at the epitaph engraved on Yunho’s marker, and Changmin reads it.

 

Don't let the dead stand in the way of the living. They are the ones who need you.

 

Changmin laughs, and even though it’s a little shaky it surprises him. “I think he’s always been trying to tell us something.”

 

He almost jumps when he feels Jaejoong’s hand reach for his.

 

“I’m willing to find out,” he says softly, and Changmin feels his heart, battered and bruised and broken, begin to lift.

 

“After all,” Jaejoong snaps his fingers, and there is a shadow of his old self, teasing and flirtatious, “I promised you a happy ending, didn’t I?”

 

“You did.” Changmin remembers it, remembers remembering it, and can’t help the smile that overtakes his face, brilliant and real.

 

There are a million ways this story might have gone, and a million different ways it can still go. There are more people to meet, secrets to discover, fights to be had, all of which can wreck a potentially happy ending in the blink of an eye. But the opposite holds true as well; nothing is set in stone. From misfortune can come hope— Changmin’s experienced it himself. Each decision he makes can change his life, and he doesn’t always know what will happen.

 

We don’t get to choose our fates, but that shouldn't stop us from trying to change them if we can.

 

Yunho was right, as usual.

 

There are a million ways his story could have ended.

 

He’ll take his chances with this one.