♡ We tend to cherish the fleeting things... because we know that, someday, they'll all be gone. ♡
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 1x
[EXTENDED SUMMARY]:
Nineteen-year-old, cancer-stricken Lee Minho knows is well aware of the presence of his impending death. Exhaus...
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EPHEMERAL » ♡ « lasting for a very short time
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It's hard not to burst into tears when your reflection is a ghost. Minho is currently trying to gaslight himself into naivety — into believing that there's no way that that's him.
A trembling finger moves in dangerous synchronization with the pallid imposter in the mirror. He reaches out to poke the surface — to touch an icy finger to thin glass — as if he could touch the cheekbones that have sunken in. Skin is stretched thin over brittle bone. Lazy eyes traverse over the reflection, scanning it with a vision that's blurred with unshed tears.
Remission. The doctors had promised "remission" with a smile and a pat on the back. There had been an aura of pride — a false sense of confidence, of security. And foolishly, six months ago, Minho had believed them.
Relapse. Four months into a celebratory "remission" stage, the doctors then alerted Minho of a sudden "relapse": a term used when cancer returns with a vengeance for an intangible reason.
Death. It feels as if it's waiting right around the corner, as if Death has finally come knocking at his door after a brief hiatus and is just biding its time before it strikes.
Somehow, amidst it all, everyone expects Minho to "keep fighting." Even when all the familiar faces at the local oncologist disappear — because they've "beat the odds" for a stable life in remission — and he's left the only one stuck in the endless loop.
It's a twisted game, almost. He gets sick. The doctors put him through another grueling round of chemotherapy. For a little while, the chemo seems to work... Until it doesn't. Inevitably, inexplicably, he gets sick again. The cycle repeats.
It's hard to run a smooth palm over the expanse of a barren scalp, expecting there to be hair there. Like everyone else. It's only when your hand meets your forehead, you realize you are deeply mistaken.
It takes a herculean strength to restrain his tears. It's been three years. Get used to it already.A disgusting, cancerous mutation has made itself home inside of you. Get over it.
