More Than Life
Title: More Than Life
Pairing(s): KangTeuk, slight!QMi
Genre(s): Romance, haunted!AU
Length: 4765 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Youngwoon wanted a purpose in life. Jungsu wanted life.
Inspiration(s): I like the in life you need a purpose theme, so I’m using it here. I also like the idea of falling in love with somebody who is already dead. For instance, I am totally head over heels in love with Franz Liszt, and he is like what, at least two centuries dead?
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1.
Youngwoon hated moving. All the dust and all the cardboard boxes were getting on his nerves, and he seriously just loathed the whole process. It was necessary, though. He felt as if he would die from lack of purpose if he stayed in that house any longer.
He lived his whole life in that house, all twenty point six years of it. He had the whole interior and exterior memorized down to the slightest cracks in the wall and the details of the ceiling texture. It was like any other house on the street-bland, pale brown, uniform, neat, and with a clean lawn with an accompanying plain garden. He had the same bedroom ever since he was conceived, and throughout the years, the whole skeleton was still there: a creaky bedframe that fitted a full-sized mattress, a feeble closet where clothes came and went, a desk with an adjustable lamp, and an old-fashioned alarm clock that was still functioning despite the years of beating it to the ground every morning.
It was not that he wanted to leave the place. Quite the opposite, really. Youngwoon loved the home that had housed all of his memories and kept him safe from the outside world. He never felt that anywhere else was home, no matter how hard he had tried. His first year at university was the first time he had been living away, and within a week he had given up his dormitory room in preference of commuting to the school since he had been incapable of sleeping in a bed that was not his and waking up to a room that he had never seen before. He never attended sleepovers either, for the only thing he would eventually end up doing was staring up to an unfamiliar ceiling and waiting until the sun rose so that he could go back home.
But he had to leave. He had already postponed it for too long.
Thus, on a partly cloudy day at 4 degrees Celsius with just a twinge of sunlight, Youngwoon walked out of the house in which he had lived his whole life with only a backpack and a suitcase filled with the bare necessities.
He ended up in a crummy motel in the middle of nowhere. The walls were cracked, the sheets were scratchy, and the bed was most likely infested with bugs, but he cared not considering the fact that he was probably not going to be getting a wink of sleep anyways.
It was dark out, and the grime on the windows made it seem even darker. He sat on the wooden chair in the middle of the room and his thoughts inevitably wandered back to the last few days and the events that it brought.
The night of the death of a man’s parents was, for the most part, depressing. Youngwoon was not heartbroken, to his disappointment. It was not because he was heartless; it was just that he and his parents were never that close in the first place, and try as he might, he was unable to be heartbroken over people who were pretty much strangers.
Another opportunity for purpose wasted.
So he just sat there, trying to make sense of it all and failing.
2.
Property was never Youngwoon’s strong suit, so he left his realtor to do all of the paperwork and parading around the house while he dealt with the fact that he was living in a brand new area.
Though he had no intention or motive, he ended up buying one hell of an expensive house that was much too big to support only one person. The walls were smooth and painted white unlike his house which was plain wood with the occasional black crevice. All the windows were pleasantly framed with white and circle in shape in contrast to his previous ones which were square and pretty much falling apart. Encircling an impeccable lawn was a lovely uniform white fence complete with a quaint old-fashioned mailbox. It was two-story house with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a basement. Youngwoon took the smallest bedroom for himself.
To any outsider, it was a dream house. To Youngwoon, it was a place to sleep.
Unfortunately, he did not get a wink of sleep the following nights, and it was not only because of the fact that he was sleeping on a different bed.
More than anything, it was cold. Snowy cold. Youngwoon would wrap his blankets around him and curl into a tight ball in an attempt to conserve all the body warmth he could and it would still be too cold to sleep. He felt as if a winter wind was sweeping across his whole body, making him shiver and shudder periodically. There was also this mysterious icy breeze that he felt once in a while and try as he might, Youngwoon was unable to pinpoint the exact cause-the windows were closed, the heater was on, the door was locked, the walls were impenetrable, and there was no possible way cold air could make it through the room with such force.
He was also convinced that he was hallucinating. Sometimes, after making a particularly fervent effort to fall asleep, Youngwoon would growl and open his eyes in frustration, and for a millisecond he would catch a glimpse of translucent white. At first he believed that it was just the common case of phosphene or the leftovers of a dream. The first possibility was ruled out via common knowledge: phosphene occurred only with colors of the rainbow. The second possibility was ruled out via common sense: in order to have leftovers of a dream, he would have to dream first, of which he most certainly did not do.
Lastly and most importantly, he heard somebody singing. He would be lying in bed when he would just barely hear the eerie and yet soothing voice of a young tenor. It was a faraway sound, something that would have been missed if you did not concentrate on it hard enough, like a whisper behind a closed door. But whatever it was, it was beautiful.
It all stopped when the first ray of light peeked in through the window. No more shivers, no more translucent white sightings, no more soft beautiful singing. At dawn, the house was all of a sudden dead silent, with absolutely no motion.
3.
Youngwoon met Jungsu on a wet rainy day five days after he moved in. He crossed the patio and walked down the short path leading to his mailbox. Quickly he retrieved his mail and spun on his heel. He stopped in his tracks when a man clad in white caught his eye, paying no heed to the fact that the papers in his hands were in danger of soaking up water like sponges.
He was not exactly sure why he just stood there, staring. Perhaps it was because the man was drop dead gorgeous with his luscious though dyed dirty blond hair, thin form, slender fingers, and delicate features. Perhaps it was because the man was draped in white from head to toe. Perhaps it was because the man was, oddly enough, barefoot with no umbrella to protect himself against the rain, motionlessly standing on the balls of his feet.
“Hey!” Youngwoon called out once he awoke from his daytime reverie. “You!”
The figure spun around, eyes wide with surprise. He stared at the new owner of the house unblinkingly, pink lips slightly parted. Hesitantly, he pointed to himself, eyebrows furrowing as if asking a silent question.
“Yah, you!” the raven-haired man said, approaching the trespasser with long confident strides. “What are you doing out here?”
The man in white did a double take before responding in a soft yet meek voice. “I’m just walking around.”
When he got close enough, Youngwoon clicked his tongue at the man’s rain attire, or in this case lack thereof. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here for too long. You are not even wearing socks. Come inside and warm up a bit. I’ll make you tea.”
The man seemed to realize that it was more an order than anything else, so he made no sign of protesting and obediently followed Youngwoon into his house, not even flinching when the door closed just a bit too noisily. “Thank you, sir.”
“You can call me Youngwoon. I live here now.”
“You live here,” he repeated quietly, forehead wrinkling in thought. “I see. Well, I’m Jungsu.”
Youngwoon handed the angelic man a towel from the nearest lingerie closet and smiled softly when his visitor accepted it gratefully. “Nice to meet you, Jungsu. Where are you from?”
“Around,” he answered simply, shrugging.
“Okay,” the larger man nodded, busying himself with boiling the water. “Well, Jungsu, there is a shower around the corner and I’ll get you some of my clothes once I finish setting up the table. Call me if you get lost or if you need any sort of assistance.”
Jungsu smiled, simultaneously showing off a dimple on his left cheek, and scurried off like a compliant little boy. Youngwoon could not help but chuckle.
The strange boy was done with his shower before Youngwoon was done with his tea, and the latter almost had a heart attack when a shrill I’m done with the shower resounded behind him. He had jumped. “Don’t do that! My heart is not that strong.”
A sheepish apology was his response. Jungsu was even more beautiful when he was not wet, his pale complexion almost transparent in addition to the ever-present dimple that Youngwoon could not help but stare at in affection.
“Where did you get those clothes?” Youngwoon asked, raising an eyebrow at the other’s outfit. “I don’t own anything white.”
Jungsu was clad in a white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of white trousers, topped with a pair of white fluffy slippers that Youngwoon had never seen before. “I found them on the bathroom counter,” he replied easily. “The last owner must have left it there.”
Youngwoon crinkled his nose in suspicion. His realtor had taken him on a more or less thorough tour around the place just days before and he did not recall seeing any article of white clothing in any of the bathrooms, and if he did, the realtor would have most definitely removed it if not only to jack the prices up. He shrugged it off and put on his most friendly smile. “The tea is ready. Sugar?”
“Three cubes, please.”
Youngwoon made his way to the kitchen cabinet and soundlessly swore when he was unable to find the box of sugar cubes.
“Try the one on the bottom,” Jungsu suggested.
The frustrated man absent-mindedly followed his advice and ducked down to the lowest cabinet, almost recoiling in surprise when he saw that it was practically jammed with at least thirty small boxes of sugar cubes. “Wow, that’s a lot of sweeteners,” he marveled. “How did you know where they were?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Psycho,” Youngwoon teased, serving the angelic man a hot cup of tea. “You live around here?”
Jungsu nodded. “Lived here all my life.”
“Siblings? Parents?”
“Older sister, father, mother. All dead,” he answered in a heartbeat.
Youngwoon cringed at the crudeness of his words. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” the man in white waved it off. His smile was sad but still genuine.
The other nodded in sympathy. “My parents died a week ago. We weren’t that close, but as their son, just knowing that I have no parents in this world hurts like a bitch.”
“Look at it this way,” the effeminate boy grinned. “It’s good to know that they are in a better place.”
Youngwoon grinned mischievously. “You seem so certain that your parents are happy being dead.”
“That’s because I am certain.”
It was disturbing because Youngwoon had a feeling that he was not joking.
4.
It became a routine for the two to meet up on rainy days and have tea together (Jungsu always had his three sugar cubes), just talking about anything around them. They talked about life, about their hobbies, about politics and religion, and whatever else they could think of. One time, they even had a whole two-hour conversation slash debate on whether or not cheese tastes blue, which ended up with them in violent fits of laughter. And every time Youngwoon saw the man who was forever dressed in white, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with him.
It was snowing aggressively the day they kissed. They were once again in the kitchen, this time talking about whether or not actors are overpaid, when a nerve dendrite in Youngwoon’s head finally snapped. “Jungsu, are you in a relationship?”
Amusement crept onto the smaller man’s face. “That was random. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.”
“Well then, to appease your curiosity, no, I’m not in a relationship. I haven’t had a girlfriend in almost ten years, really.”
Youngwoon widened his eyes. “Wow, how old are you?”
A mischievous smile. “Twenty-six.”
“I’m almost twenty-one. Funny, you don’t look that old at all. I would have thought you looked seventeen at most.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is!” Youngwoon added hastily. “Anyways, are you just not interested in relationships?”
“It’s not that,” Jungsu shook his head, a wistful expression on his face. “I would absolutely love to have somebody beside me, but it’s just that a relationship with me is impossible in the end.”
“Not all relationships work out, though,” Youngwoon pointed out. “Just because it didn’t work the first time doesn’t mean that it won’t work the next time.”
“A relationship with me is impossible,” the man reiterated, more forcefully this time. “Trust me on this.”
The stubborn man frowned, chin lifted in determination. “What if I prove you wrong?”
“You won’t,” Jungsu replied calmly, his eyes unnervingly serene.
Youngwoon, exasperated with how the conversation was unfolding, spontaneously pulled the man into his embrace for a powerful and passionate kiss, marveling at the fact that he was being kissed back. A shiver ran down his spine when he felt how cold the other man was-the large expanse of pale white skin felt as cold as it looked, nearly the same temperature as the snow outside. Even Jungsu’s tongue felt icily cold against his own.
But when Jungsu let out a soft mewl against his lips, all coherent thoughts flew from Youngwoon’s mind, and he used the rest of his psychological energy to maintain his sanity.
5.
“Do you love me, Youngwoon?”
“More than life itself.”
“More than life? Really?”
“Unquestionably.”
6.
Youngwoon never thought that death was a beautiful thing. More like depressing, gruesome, unsightly, etcetera and etcetera. That all changed one still-sleepless night, though, when he came face to face with the most beautiful white figure that he had ever seen. Don’t mind the fact that it was the one and only time he had ever seen a misty translucent figure with luscious white hair, thin form, slender fingers, and delicate features.
“J-Jungsu?” he croaked out, rubbing his eyes for good measure.
The figure nodded, a sad dimpled smile on his transparent face.
“You-?”
“Yes, I’m a ghost,” he answered before the question was yet to be vocalized. “You have been talking to a dead boy this whole time.”
The insomniac pulled the covers off of him and let his legs fall over the edge of the bed. “If you are a ghost, how was I able to see you?” Youngwoon asked, heart running faster than his brain for once. “How was I able to hear your voice?”
Jungsu chuckled, an echo-like sound in the small room. “I have to admit, I am the one to blame for that. You can only see me if I want you to see me. And apparently, I wanted you to see me. Very badly.”
“Then why did I see you as a normal person and not like this?” he pointed to the white mist in front of him. “And how was I able to feel you if you were transparent all this time?”
“I wasn’t. I’m only capable of appearing normal in the morning if not a little on the cold side. At night I roam the house in my true form, after the sun goes to sleep.”
Without warning, Youngwoon thought back to all those nights he spent shivering and to all those times Jungsu had known where everything was. “You used to live here,” he said, more a statement than a question. “You used to live here with your parents and your older sister. Didn’t you?”
A nod. “I lived here all my life. I was seventeen when I died. If I was still living, I would be twenty-six.”
“Nine years,” Youngwoon pondered. “How did you, well-?”
“Die? Rat poison. A burglar came in while we were sleeping. We never stood a chance.”
Pity coursed through Youngwoon’s frantically beating heart. “Is your family here with you now?” he asked, motioning towards the empty space behind Jungsu.
“No. They all moved on to a better place several years ago. I’m the last one here.”
“How come you didn’t go with them?”
The ghost seemed to darken its usually pale transparency. “I was young, Youngwoon, and I wanted to do so much with my life. I wanted to be famous, I wanted to become a singer, I wanted to become a star. When I died, I felt cheated out of a prosperous opportunity to live and achieve my dreams. Still do. Ever since I became like this, I never had the chance of becoming a world-class idol. I had planned everything. I would sign a contract with some big entertainment company, I would train as hard as I could until my debut came, and in due time I would become famous. I even chose Leeteuk as my stage name.” His voice became frantic, crazed. “I want to live, Youngwoon! You of all people should understand! I just want to live!”
“But you can’t,” Youngwoon concluded nonchalantly after a brief moment of deep pondering. He had firsthand knowledge that being straightforward was less hurtful than pity. “And you must accept that.”
“Easy for you to say,” the ghost retorted. “You’re still alive. You still have a pumping heart and capable lungs. You are in a state where you can go out in the open and live your life.”
The raven-haired man lowered his head, unable to conjure up any soothing words. “I’m sorry.”
Jungsu seemed to soften at the sincere words, and his transparent hand made its way towards the younger’s face. Youngwoon shivered as the ice-cold hand fell straight through his jaw, unable to make contact with the solid matter that was Youngwoon’s cheek. The ghost scowled. “I can’t even touch the person I love when I am like this.”
From out of nowhere, Youngwoon started to smile. “So you love me?”
“Unfortunately so,” the transparent man spat bitterly. “And it only makes things that much worse.”
“Why? You know very well that I reciprocate your feelings.”
Jungsu looked his lover straight in the eye. “Youngwoon, we can never be together. I’m dead. You know that, don’t you?”
7.
Thick fingers brushed lightly against a stainless steel knife lying on the kitchen counter.
“You’ve been so quiet this whole afternoon. What are you thinking?”
“Just, you know, stuff.”
“Is it because you are bothered by the fact that you are talking to somebody who is no longer living?”
He shook his head. “I’m not bothered. I am merely wondering.”
“About what?”
A kiss was his response.
8.
Two months after he first moved into that house, Youngwoon finally made a decision, and he carried it out before doubts started polluting his mind. It was a surreal experience as he first felt the membrane of his skin slit open. He stayed calm as blood started to trickle onto his fingers down to his fingers, and he pulled the knife out from between his ribs. There was no cry of pain when he collapsed onto the kitchen floor, watching as fresh blood spilled onto the otherwise white tiles.
It was Jungsu’s birthday, and Youngwoon knew that he liked spending it with loved ones, in this case in the graveyard where his family (including the birthday boy himself) was buried. It would be a good couple hours at least before he returned, giving him plenty of time to-please excuse the crudeness-shrivel up and die.
Think of it as a birthday present of sorts.
9.
Youngwoon woke up in a white room three days later, confused out of his mind. A thin young boy with messy black hair and sallow skin was the first person he saw. Dressed entirely in a plastic-looking sky blue outfit, he had a clipboard in his hands and tedious concentration on his face.
The bedridden man took a few moments to adjust to the change in light before breathing out a rasped “Am I dead?”
The young man snickered. “No, but you would have been if the paramedics got there a few moments too late. You had already lost a considerable amount of blood when you got here. What the hell happened anyway?”
“Kui Xian,” a man dressed in a white cloak with a stethoscope around his neck appeared from the doorway in the far corner. “Do be nicer to the patients. It helps recovery.”
Kui Xian, or Kyuhyun as it read on his name tag, rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dr. Zhou.”
“I’m sorry about my intern here,” the doctor conversed with a brilliant smile on his face, nudging the sarcastic boy with his shoulder. “How are you feeling? Do you feel pain anywhere?”
“Just a bit woozy. Headache.”
“That’s from the blood loss. It’ll get better after a while.” The doctor grinned. “So that plus the fact that you were stabbed really deep. You were lucky that the knife it did not pierce your stomach, or else you would have died in half that time.”
Youngwoon laughed weakly, regretting it when his stomach tensed around the painful wound between his ribs. “So I’m lucky?”
“Unfortunately so,” Kyuhyun bit out, receiving a warning glare from Dr. Zhou. “Why did you want to throw your life away anyways?”
“Kui Xian!”
“Admit it, Mi, you are thinking the same thing!”
“It is not our business. We are only here to help them recuperate, not to put our nose into their personal affairs!”
The patient heaved out a deep sigh, and the two medical affiliates abruptly stopped bickering in time to hear him breathe out a tired: “Let’s say that I merely wanted to be with the love of my life.”
Kyuhyun was about to make a sadistic remark but Zhou Mi beat him to it, clamping his hand over the younger’s mouth. “I’m sorry for your loss. She must have meant a lot to you.”
“He,” Youngwoon corrected gently. “He meant a lot to me. More than my own life, as you can see.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Zhou Mi shrugged. “He is at a better place now.”
Younwoon rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
Zhou Mi smiled sadly, showing teeth that were almost whiter than the outfit he was wearing. “Kui Xian, can you get the x-ray machine? We’ll do another checkup.”
The intern rolled his eyes and rudely shoved past the doctor. The latter only chuckled. “He’s a feisty one. I apologize if he was being rude to you earlier. I keep telling him to stop harassing the patients but being nice is like the bane of his existence.”
“I met a few like those,” the wounded man joked, but his face clouded over almost immediately. “How did I get here anyways?”
“There was an anonymous phone call,” Dr. Zhou explained. “He told us that you had stabbed yourself and that we needed to get there pronto.”
“I see. Do you know who this mystery caller was?”
“He told us that his name was Leeteuk, the owner of the house. Funny thing is, when the paramedics got there, there was not a soul in sight except for you. Plus, I looked up the address just now and it told me that the owner of the house prior to you died more than a decade ago.” Zhou Mi laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that it was a ghost who saved your life. But that’s crazy, isn’t it?”
Glassy eyed in shock, Youngwoon simply laughed nervously. “Yah. Really crazy.”
10.
“Why did you do it?”
“I wanted to be with you.”
“You would do that for me?”
“I would do anything for you. I just wanted you to be happy.”
“If you want me to be happy, live. We have time. We can spend our whole afterlife together.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Youngwoon, being with you made me realized that my life was already complete. I had a beautiful family, a perfect environment, and a happy life, and because of this I am ready to move on. Now promise me that you will live a long and happy life and that you will strive towards your dreams. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss on his lover’s lips. “Then goodbye.”
The man in white dissipated into thin air and was never seen on Earth again.
11.
The stadium was roaring with energy, fangirl screams and rhythmic Kangin! Kangin! Kangin! chants resonating all around at an ear-deafening volume. It was nothing, though, compared to the screams that accumulated when the star performer finally showed up in front the thousands-millions-that came to watch him and to cheer him on.
And then Youngwoon did what he needed to do and sang. He sang for his audience, he sang for the pride of his entertainment company, he sang for himself. But most of all, he sang for that special someone that he knew to be out there somewhere, waiting for him to join him in the afterlife. For all he knew, Jungsu could have been standing right beside him the whole time. It was a comforting thought.
You see, after his parents’ death, it finally dawned upon Youngwoon that he really had no idea what he really wanted to do with life. He had no other plans other than continue sustaining himself until he succumbed to dying alone. He had decided that staying in the house in which he had been living in for his whole life was going to get him nowhere. He had figured that cutting off all ties with the rest of his family would bring about more challenges for him to tackle. He had guessed that starting anew-brand sparkly-clean new-would finally bring him a purpose.
He was wrong. None of that gave him any more purpose than just doing nothing at all. It was Jungsu that gave him something to work towards-a promise to be kept. Consequently, Youngwoon strove towards a long and fulfilling life, the kind of life that Jungsu himself would have been proud of. He became a singer.
Because of his determination and hard work, he was number one for quite a while. His days were spent travelling with his crew, dodging multitudes of cheering fans, and preparing for the many concerts that were laid ahead. In interviews, despite what his company advised, he always answered yes when the dreaded are you in a relationship? question popped up. He even went so far as to proclaim that he was never going to leave his precious Leeteuk, which made headlines for a good month and a half (along with hate mail and the like). Rumors continued to spread when, even under the most detailed surveillance, this mysterious Leeteuk never appeared, leading to scandal after scandal after scandal.
And you know what? It was worthwhile.
He ended his singing career at the age of thirty-eight, and switched to hosting popular televised programs until he retired at fifty-four. From there, he opened up a little tea shop called The Three Sugar Cubes that was mostly successful due to his past career. He later sold it to a certain Dr. Zhou when he was ready to retire officially.
The rest of his life was spent in much-needed silence until his death at age ninety-three.
And then he woke up to a white room. A thin dirty blond man with a dimpled smile and white clothes was the first person he saw.
Pairing(s): KangTeuk, slight!QMi
Genre(s): Romance, haunted!AU
Length: 4765 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Youngwoon wanted a purpose in life. Jungsu wanted life.
Inspiration(s): I like the in life you need a purpose theme, so I’m using it here. I also like the idea of falling in love with somebody who is already dead. For instance, I am totally head over heels in love with Franz Liszt, and he is like what, at least two centuries dead?
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1.
Youngwoon hated moving. All the dust and all the cardboard boxes were getting on his nerves, and he seriously just loathed the whole process. It was necessary, though. He felt as if he would die from lack of purpose if he stayed in that house any longer.
He lived his whole life in that house, all twenty point six years of it. He had the whole interior and exterior memorized down to the slightest cracks in the wall and the details of the ceiling texture. It was like any other house on the street-bland, pale brown, uniform, neat, and with a clean lawn with an accompanying plain garden. He had the same bedroom ever since he was conceived, and throughout the years, the whole skeleton was still there: a creaky bedframe that fitted a full-sized mattress, a feeble closet where clothes came and went, a desk with an adjustable lamp, and an old-fashioned alarm clock that was still functioning despite the years of beating it to the ground every morning.
It was not that he wanted to leave the place. Quite the opposite, really. Youngwoon loved the home that had housed all of his memories and kept him safe from the outside world. He never felt that anywhere else was home, no matter how hard he had tried. His first year at university was the first time he had been living away, and within a week he had given up his dormitory room in preference of commuting to the school since he had been incapable of sleeping in a bed that was not his and waking up to a room that he had never seen before. He never attended sleepovers either, for the only thing he would eventually end up doing was staring up to an unfamiliar ceiling and waiting until the sun rose so that he could go back home.
But he had to leave. He had already postponed it for too long.
Thus, on a partly cloudy day at 4 degrees Celsius with just a twinge of sunlight, Youngwoon walked out of the house in which he had lived his whole life with only a backpack and a suitcase filled with the bare necessities.
He ended up in a crummy motel in the middle of nowhere. The walls were cracked, the sheets were scratchy, and the bed was most likely infested with bugs, but he cared not considering the fact that he was probably not going to be getting a wink of sleep anyways.
It was dark out, and the grime on the windows made it seem even darker. He sat on the wooden chair in the middle of the room and his thoughts inevitably wandered back to the last few days and the events that it brought.
The night of the death of a man’s parents was, for the most part, depressing. Youngwoon was not heartbroken, to his disappointment. It was not because he was heartless; it was just that he and his parents were never that close in the first place, and try as he might, he was unable to be heartbroken over people who were pretty much strangers.
Another opportunity for purpose wasted.
So he just sat there, trying to make sense of it all and failing.
2.
Property was never Youngwoon’s strong suit, so he left his realtor to do all of the paperwork and parading around the house while he dealt with the fact that he was living in a brand new area.
Though he had no intention or motive, he ended up buying one hell of an expensive house that was much too big to support only one person. The walls were smooth and painted white unlike his house which was plain wood with the occasional black crevice. All the windows were pleasantly framed with white and circle in shape in contrast to his previous ones which were square and pretty much falling apart. Encircling an impeccable lawn was a lovely uniform white fence complete with a quaint old-fashioned mailbox. It was two-story house with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a basement. Youngwoon took the smallest bedroom for himself.
To any outsider, it was a dream house. To Youngwoon, it was a place to sleep.
Unfortunately, he did not get a wink of sleep the following nights, and it was not only because of the fact that he was sleeping on a different bed.
More than anything, it was cold. Snowy cold. Youngwoon would wrap his blankets around him and curl into a tight ball in an attempt to conserve all the body warmth he could and it would still be too cold to sleep. He felt as if a winter wind was sweeping across his whole body, making him shiver and shudder periodically. There was also this mysterious icy breeze that he felt once in a while and try as he might, Youngwoon was unable to pinpoint the exact cause-the windows were closed, the heater was on, the door was locked, the walls were impenetrable, and there was no possible way cold air could make it through the room with such force.
He was also convinced that he was hallucinating. Sometimes, after making a particularly fervent effort to fall asleep, Youngwoon would growl and open his eyes in frustration, and for a millisecond he would catch a glimpse of translucent white. At first he believed that it was just the common case of phosphene or the leftovers of a dream. The first possibility was ruled out via common knowledge: phosphene occurred only with colors of the rainbow. The second possibility was ruled out via common sense: in order to have leftovers of a dream, he would have to dream first, of which he most certainly did not do.
Lastly and most importantly, he heard somebody singing. He would be lying in bed when he would just barely hear the eerie and yet soothing voice of a young tenor. It was a faraway sound, something that would have been missed if you did not concentrate on it hard enough, like a whisper behind a closed door. But whatever it was, it was beautiful.
It all stopped when the first ray of light peeked in through the window. No more shivers, no more translucent white sightings, no more soft beautiful singing. At dawn, the house was all of a sudden dead silent, with absolutely no motion.
3.
Youngwoon met Jungsu on a wet rainy day five days after he moved in. He crossed the patio and walked down the short path leading to his mailbox. Quickly he retrieved his mail and spun on his heel. He stopped in his tracks when a man clad in white caught his eye, paying no heed to the fact that the papers in his hands were in danger of soaking up water like sponges.
He was not exactly sure why he just stood there, staring. Perhaps it was because the man was drop dead gorgeous with his luscious though dyed dirty blond hair, thin form, slender fingers, and delicate features. Perhaps it was because the man was draped in white from head to toe. Perhaps it was because the man was, oddly enough, barefoot with no umbrella to protect himself against the rain, motionlessly standing on the balls of his feet.
“Hey!” Youngwoon called out once he awoke from his daytime reverie. “You!”
The figure spun around, eyes wide with surprise. He stared at the new owner of the house unblinkingly, pink lips slightly parted. Hesitantly, he pointed to himself, eyebrows furrowing as if asking a silent question.
“Yah, you!” the raven-haired man said, approaching the trespasser with long confident strides. “What are you doing out here?”
The man in white did a double take before responding in a soft yet meek voice. “I’m just walking around.”
When he got close enough, Youngwoon clicked his tongue at the man’s rain attire, or in this case lack thereof. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here for too long. You are not even wearing socks. Come inside and warm up a bit. I’ll make you tea.”
The man seemed to realize that it was more an order than anything else, so he made no sign of protesting and obediently followed Youngwoon into his house, not even flinching when the door closed just a bit too noisily. “Thank you, sir.”
“You can call me Youngwoon. I live here now.”
“You live here,” he repeated quietly, forehead wrinkling in thought. “I see. Well, I’m Jungsu.”
Youngwoon handed the angelic man a towel from the nearest lingerie closet and smiled softly when his visitor accepted it gratefully. “Nice to meet you, Jungsu. Where are you from?”
“Around,” he answered simply, shrugging.
“Okay,” the larger man nodded, busying himself with boiling the water. “Well, Jungsu, there is a shower around the corner and I’ll get you some of my clothes once I finish setting up the table. Call me if you get lost or if you need any sort of assistance.”
Jungsu smiled, simultaneously showing off a dimple on his left cheek, and scurried off like a compliant little boy. Youngwoon could not help but chuckle.
The strange boy was done with his shower before Youngwoon was done with his tea, and the latter almost had a heart attack when a shrill I’m done with the shower resounded behind him. He had jumped. “Don’t do that! My heart is not that strong.”
A sheepish apology was his response. Jungsu was even more beautiful when he was not wet, his pale complexion almost transparent in addition to the ever-present dimple that Youngwoon could not help but stare at in affection.
“Where did you get those clothes?” Youngwoon asked, raising an eyebrow at the other’s outfit. “I don’t own anything white.”
Jungsu was clad in a white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of white trousers, topped with a pair of white fluffy slippers that Youngwoon had never seen before. “I found them on the bathroom counter,” he replied easily. “The last owner must have left it there.”
Youngwoon crinkled his nose in suspicion. His realtor had taken him on a more or less thorough tour around the place just days before and he did not recall seeing any article of white clothing in any of the bathrooms, and if he did, the realtor would have most definitely removed it if not only to jack the prices up. He shrugged it off and put on his most friendly smile. “The tea is ready. Sugar?”
“Three cubes, please.”
Youngwoon made his way to the kitchen cabinet and soundlessly swore when he was unable to find the box of sugar cubes.
“Try the one on the bottom,” Jungsu suggested.
The frustrated man absent-mindedly followed his advice and ducked down to the lowest cabinet, almost recoiling in surprise when he saw that it was practically jammed with at least thirty small boxes of sugar cubes. “Wow, that’s a lot of sweeteners,” he marveled. “How did you know where they were?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Psycho,” Youngwoon teased, serving the angelic man a hot cup of tea. “You live around here?”
Jungsu nodded. “Lived here all my life.”
“Siblings? Parents?”
“Older sister, father, mother. All dead,” he answered in a heartbeat.
Youngwoon cringed at the crudeness of his words. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” the man in white waved it off. His smile was sad but still genuine.
The other nodded in sympathy. “My parents died a week ago. We weren’t that close, but as their son, just knowing that I have no parents in this world hurts like a bitch.”
“Look at it this way,” the effeminate boy grinned. “It’s good to know that they are in a better place.”
Youngwoon grinned mischievously. “You seem so certain that your parents are happy being dead.”
“That’s because I am certain.”
It was disturbing because Youngwoon had a feeling that he was not joking.
4.
It became a routine for the two to meet up on rainy days and have tea together (Jungsu always had his three sugar cubes), just talking about anything around them. They talked about life, about their hobbies, about politics and religion, and whatever else they could think of. One time, they even had a whole two-hour conversation slash debate on whether or not cheese tastes blue, which ended up with them in violent fits of laughter. And every time Youngwoon saw the man who was forever dressed in white, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with him.
It was snowing aggressively the day they kissed. They were once again in the kitchen, this time talking about whether or not actors are overpaid, when a nerve dendrite in Youngwoon’s head finally snapped. “Jungsu, are you in a relationship?”
Amusement crept onto the smaller man’s face. “That was random. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.”
“Well then, to appease your curiosity, no, I’m not in a relationship. I haven’t had a girlfriend in almost ten years, really.”
Youngwoon widened his eyes. “Wow, how old are you?”
A mischievous smile. “Twenty-six.”
“I’m almost twenty-one. Funny, you don’t look that old at all. I would have thought you looked seventeen at most.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is!” Youngwoon added hastily. “Anyways, are you just not interested in relationships?”
“It’s not that,” Jungsu shook his head, a wistful expression on his face. “I would absolutely love to have somebody beside me, but it’s just that a relationship with me is impossible in the end.”
“Not all relationships work out, though,” Youngwoon pointed out. “Just because it didn’t work the first time doesn’t mean that it won’t work the next time.”
“A relationship with me is impossible,” the man reiterated, more forcefully this time. “Trust me on this.”
The stubborn man frowned, chin lifted in determination. “What if I prove you wrong?”
“You won’t,” Jungsu replied calmly, his eyes unnervingly serene.
Youngwoon, exasperated with how the conversation was unfolding, spontaneously pulled the man into his embrace for a powerful and passionate kiss, marveling at the fact that he was being kissed back. A shiver ran down his spine when he felt how cold the other man was-the large expanse of pale white skin felt as cold as it looked, nearly the same temperature as the snow outside. Even Jungsu’s tongue felt icily cold against his own.
But when Jungsu let out a soft mewl against his lips, all coherent thoughts flew from Youngwoon’s mind, and he used the rest of his psychological energy to maintain his sanity.
5.
“Do you love me, Youngwoon?”
“More than life itself.”
“More than life? Really?”
“Unquestionably.”
6.
Youngwoon never thought that death was a beautiful thing. More like depressing, gruesome, unsightly, etcetera and etcetera. That all changed one still-sleepless night, though, when he came face to face with the most beautiful white figure that he had ever seen. Don’t mind the fact that it was the one and only time he had ever seen a misty translucent figure with luscious white hair, thin form, slender fingers, and delicate features.
“J-Jungsu?” he croaked out, rubbing his eyes for good measure.
The figure nodded, a sad dimpled smile on his transparent face.
“You-?”
“Yes, I’m a ghost,” he answered before the question was yet to be vocalized. “You have been talking to a dead boy this whole time.”
The insomniac pulled the covers off of him and let his legs fall over the edge of the bed. “If you are a ghost, how was I able to see you?” Youngwoon asked, heart running faster than his brain for once. “How was I able to hear your voice?”
Jungsu chuckled, an echo-like sound in the small room. “I have to admit, I am the one to blame for that. You can only see me if I want you to see me. And apparently, I wanted you to see me. Very badly.”
“Then why did I see you as a normal person and not like this?” he pointed to the white mist in front of him. “And how was I able to feel you if you were transparent all this time?”
“I wasn’t. I’m only capable of appearing normal in the morning if not a little on the cold side. At night I roam the house in my true form, after the sun goes to sleep.”
Without warning, Youngwoon thought back to all those nights he spent shivering and to all those times Jungsu had known where everything was. “You used to live here,” he said, more a statement than a question. “You used to live here with your parents and your older sister. Didn’t you?”
A nod. “I lived here all my life. I was seventeen when I died. If I was still living, I would be twenty-six.”
“Nine years,” Youngwoon pondered. “How did you, well-?”
“Die? Rat poison. A burglar came in while we were sleeping. We never stood a chance.”
Pity coursed through Youngwoon’s frantically beating heart. “Is your family here with you now?” he asked, motioning towards the empty space behind Jungsu.
“No. They all moved on to a better place several years ago. I’m the last one here.”
“How come you didn’t go with them?”
The ghost seemed to darken its usually pale transparency. “I was young, Youngwoon, and I wanted to do so much with my life. I wanted to be famous, I wanted to become a singer, I wanted to become a star. When I died, I felt cheated out of a prosperous opportunity to live and achieve my dreams. Still do. Ever since I became like this, I never had the chance of becoming a world-class idol. I had planned everything. I would sign a contract with some big entertainment company, I would train as hard as I could until my debut came, and in due time I would become famous. I even chose Leeteuk as my stage name.” His voice became frantic, crazed. “I want to live, Youngwoon! You of all people should understand! I just want to live!”
“But you can’t,” Youngwoon concluded nonchalantly after a brief moment of deep pondering. He had firsthand knowledge that being straightforward was less hurtful than pity. “And you must accept that.”
“Easy for you to say,” the ghost retorted. “You’re still alive. You still have a pumping heart and capable lungs. You are in a state where you can go out in the open and live your life.”
The raven-haired man lowered his head, unable to conjure up any soothing words. “I’m sorry.”
Jungsu seemed to soften at the sincere words, and his transparent hand made its way towards the younger’s face. Youngwoon shivered as the ice-cold hand fell straight through his jaw, unable to make contact with the solid matter that was Youngwoon’s cheek. The ghost scowled. “I can’t even touch the person I love when I am like this.”
From out of nowhere, Youngwoon started to smile. “So you love me?”
“Unfortunately so,” the transparent man spat bitterly. “And it only makes things that much worse.”
“Why? You know very well that I reciprocate your feelings.”
Jungsu looked his lover straight in the eye. “Youngwoon, we can never be together. I’m dead. You know that, don’t you?”
7.
Thick fingers brushed lightly against a stainless steel knife lying on the kitchen counter.
“You’ve been so quiet this whole afternoon. What are you thinking?”
“Just, you know, stuff.”
“Is it because you are bothered by the fact that you are talking to somebody who is no longer living?”
He shook his head. “I’m not bothered. I am merely wondering.”
“About what?”
A kiss was his response.
8.
Two months after he first moved into that house, Youngwoon finally made a decision, and he carried it out before doubts started polluting his mind. It was a surreal experience as he first felt the membrane of his skin slit open. He stayed calm as blood started to trickle onto his fingers down to his fingers, and he pulled the knife out from between his ribs. There was no cry of pain when he collapsed onto the kitchen floor, watching as fresh blood spilled onto the otherwise white tiles.
It was Jungsu’s birthday, and Youngwoon knew that he liked spending it with loved ones, in this case in the graveyard where his family (including the birthday boy himself) was buried. It would be a good couple hours at least before he returned, giving him plenty of time to-please excuse the crudeness-shrivel up and die.
Think of it as a birthday present of sorts.
9.
Youngwoon woke up in a white room three days later, confused out of his mind. A thin young boy with messy black hair and sallow skin was the first person he saw. Dressed entirely in a plastic-looking sky blue outfit, he had a clipboard in his hands and tedious concentration on his face.
The bedridden man took a few moments to adjust to the change in light before breathing out a rasped “Am I dead?”
The young man snickered. “No, but you would have been if the paramedics got there a few moments too late. You had already lost a considerable amount of blood when you got here. What the hell happened anyway?”
“Kui Xian,” a man dressed in a white cloak with a stethoscope around his neck appeared from the doorway in the far corner. “Do be nicer to the patients. It helps recovery.”
Kui Xian, or Kyuhyun as it read on his name tag, rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dr. Zhou.”
“I’m sorry about my intern here,” the doctor conversed with a brilliant smile on his face, nudging the sarcastic boy with his shoulder. “How are you feeling? Do you feel pain anywhere?”
“Just a bit woozy. Headache.”
“That’s from the blood loss. It’ll get better after a while.” The doctor grinned. “So that plus the fact that you were stabbed really deep. You were lucky that the knife it did not pierce your stomach, or else you would have died in half that time.”
Youngwoon laughed weakly, regretting it when his stomach tensed around the painful wound between his ribs. “So I’m lucky?”
“Unfortunately so,” Kyuhyun bit out, receiving a warning glare from Dr. Zhou. “Why did you want to throw your life away anyways?”
“Kui Xian!”
“Admit it, Mi, you are thinking the same thing!”
“It is not our business. We are only here to help them recuperate, not to put our nose into their personal affairs!”
The patient heaved out a deep sigh, and the two medical affiliates abruptly stopped bickering in time to hear him breathe out a tired: “Let’s say that I merely wanted to be with the love of my life.”
Kyuhyun was about to make a sadistic remark but Zhou Mi beat him to it, clamping his hand over the younger’s mouth. “I’m sorry for your loss. She must have meant a lot to you.”
“He,” Youngwoon corrected gently. “He meant a lot to me. More than my own life, as you can see.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Zhou Mi shrugged. “He is at a better place now.”
Younwoon rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
Zhou Mi smiled sadly, showing teeth that were almost whiter than the outfit he was wearing. “Kui Xian, can you get the x-ray machine? We’ll do another checkup.”
The intern rolled his eyes and rudely shoved past the doctor. The latter only chuckled. “He’s a feisty one. I apologize if he was being rude to you earlier. I keep telling him to stop harassing the patients but being nice is like the bane of his existence.”
“I met a few like those,” the wounded man joked, but his face clouded over almost immediately. “How did I get here anyways?”
“There was an anonymous phone call,” Dr. Zhou explained. “He told us that you had stabbed yourself and that we needed to get there pronto.”
“I see. Do you know who this mystery caller was?”
“He told us that his name was Leeteuk, the owner of the house. Funny thing is, when the paramedics got there, there was not a soul in sight except for you. Plus, I looked up the address just now and it told me that the owner of the house prior to you died more than a decade ago.” Zhou Mi laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that it was a ghost who saved your life. But that’s crazy, isn’t it?”
Glassy eyed in shock, Youngwoon simply laughed nervously. “Yah. Really crazy.”
10.
“Why did you do it?”
“I wanted to be with you.”
“You would do that for me?”
“I would do anything for you. I just wanted you to be happy.”
“If you want me to be happy, live. We have time. We can spend our whole afterlife together.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Youngwoon, being with you made me realized that my life was already complete. I had a beautiful family, a perfect environment, and a happy life, and because of this I am ready to move on. Now promise me that you will live a long and happy life and that you will strive towards your dreams. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss on his lover’s lips. “Then goodbye.”
The man in white dissipated into thin air and was never seen on Earth again.
11.
The stadium was roaring with energy, fangirl screams and rhythmic Kangin! Kangin! Kangin! chants resonating all around at an ear-deafening volume. It was nothing, though, compared to the screams that accumulated when the star performer finally showed up in front the thousands-millions-that came to watch him and to cheer him on.
And then Youngwoon did what he needed to do and sang. He sang for his audience, he sang for the pride of his entertainment company, he sang for himself. But most of all, he sang for that special someone that he knew to be out there somewhere, waiting for him to join him in the afterlife. For all he knew, Jungsu could have been standing right beside him the whole time. It was a comforting thought.
You see, after his parents’ death, it finally dawned upon Youngwoon that he really had no idea what he really wanted to do with life. He had no other plans other than continue sustaining himself until he succumbed to dying alone. He had decided that staying in the house in which he had been living in for his whole life was going to get him nowhere. He had figured that cutting off all ties with the rest of his family would bring about more challenges for him to tackle. He had guessed that starting anew-brand sparkly-clean new-would finally bring him a purpose.
He was wrong. None of that gave him any more purpose than just doing nothing at all. It was Jungsu that gave him something to work towards-a promise to be kept. Consequently, Youngwoon strove towards a long and fulfilling life, the kind of life that Jungsu himself would have been proud of. He became a singer.
Because of his determination and hard work, he was number one for quite a while. His days were spent travelling with his crew, dodging multitudes of cheering fans, and preparing for the many concerts that were laid ahead. In interviews, despite what his company advised, he always answered yes when the dreaded are you in a relationship? question popped up. He even went so far as to proclaim that he was never going to leave his precious Leeteuk, which made headlines for a good month and a half (along with hate mail and the like). Rumors continued to spread when, even under the most detailed surveillance, this mysterious Leeteuk never appeared, leading to scandal after scandal after scandal.
And you know what? It was worthwhile.
He ended his singing career at the age of thirty-eight, and switched to hosting popular televised programs until he retired at fifty-four. From there, he opened up a little tea shop called The Three Sugar Cubes that was mostly successful due to his past career. He later sold it to a certain Dr. Zhou when he was ready to retire officially.
The rest of his life was spent in much-needed silence until his death at age ninety-three.
And then he woke up to a white room. A thin dirty blond man with a dimpled smile and white clothes was the first person he saw.